The Fight Club
by The Fighting Irishman
Summary: He never wanted to be a champion. He certainly never expected he'd get the opportunity to train one. Rated T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

No one really knew what to expect in the aftermath of its shellacking. For the longest time, Saffron City had been a Fighting city, proud of its combination of grit and glamour. Locals could puff out their chests when thinking about the worldwide sway that Silph Co., based in their grand city city, held as well as the hard-nosed gym at the north end of town. The leader was a Karate master, who proudly wore his black belt with pride as he and his underlings set a strong standard for any trainers that attempted to earn the necessary badge to enter the Indigo Plateau and the Kanto branch of the Pokemon League. For the longest time, it looked like things would never change.

Then came the Psychics.

They brutalized the dojo. Their leader was a cool and aloof psychic, whose stunning beauty was matched only by her calculated determination to destroy the runty gym next door. It was a massacre, with the completely overwhelmed karatekas curb-stomped. Sadly, the change happened almost overnight. Aspiring trainers began flocking over to the newer gym to face off against the new big weight in town, and it wasn't long before the Pokemon League made an executive decision to recognize Sabrina's locale as the officially sanctioned gym of Saffron City. The Fighting Dojo was relegated to an also-ran, and with the Karate Master retreating into seclusion in shame, the rest of his underlings would go their separate ways as well. The place began to fall into disrepair, and eventually the annoyed Sabrina filed an official complaint to the city board of directors, intending to have the all-but-condemned building leveled.

It is on the day of this hearing, my dear readers, that our story begins…

_**SABRINA**_

Saffron City District Court, Courtroom #5, 9:04 A.M.

Sabrina glanced at her watch. It was four minutes past the hour. The judge was _late._ This was enough to make the psychic seethe with tranquil fury. Her cold expression did not change on the outside, but on the inside her blood was boiling. How could that doddering old fool take so long? This was supposed to be a mere formality! That wreck of a building was so rundown that she figured she could cause it to collapse with her mind as easily as she could bend a spoon. She took a deep breath, and somehow managed to relax herself. Patience, dear girl. This would all be over soon.

The sound of the courtroom door opened behind her. Sabrina, along with the various other onlookers in the crowd of chairs, turned to see a young man walking hurriedly down the aisle. He was a little disheveled, and certainly a little bit underdressed for a courtroom (he was just wearing a polo sweater and khaki pants) but it was clear that he had dressed up for the occasion. Sabrina barely raised an eyebrow as he took a seat at one of the lawyer tables, and began to bring out of his backpack a multitude of papers. What did this fool think he was doing? Didn't he know that this was just a formal procedure open to the public, not a hearing?

She was distracted when she heard the door in the front of the room open, and the city councilmen and women walked out. Sabrina never particularly had a problem with the old dodders; it was just that that was that: they were old. They tended to be a bit stubborn, but to this date there was nothing that she hadn't been able to get for the city or for her. The local joke was that Sabrina might as well consolidate the council members and just run the city herself. She certainly didn't mind the ego stroking that thought gave her.

She also considered removing them all by force when the chairwoman, an elderly lady with a grandmotherly air cleared her throat to gain attention and said:

"Welcome everyone to the city council meeting on the purchase of the land area formerly designated in the zoning ordinance as the 'Fighting Dojo' by a Mr…" She looked down at the sheet of paper in front of her. "…A Mr. Phoenix, is that correct?"

The young man gave a cheery nod.

"That's me, ma'am!" He said.

_**WHAT?**_

Immediately, Sabrina rose from her chair, causing those that were unfortunate to be sitting next to her to cower in terror at her tranquil fury. Somehow, she did not change her expression (though she did raise her voice considerably) as she berated the city council.

"Madame Chairwoman, this is ridiculous! This boy has not filed the proper paperwork or gone through the appropriate procedure!" She roared. "How could you hand him the keys to that place so flippantly?" To her surprise (and rage) the elder woman adopted a stern look.

"Miss Sabrina, while it is true that your distaste for that bit of real estate is…well-known…the fact of the matter is that though Mr. Phoenix here filed paperwork at the very last minute, you did not file any paperwork whatsoever. Correct me if I am wrong, but isn't it true that your attitude towards this meeting was to just sit and dare anyone to claim that old building?" She asked pointedly. Sabrina felt red with rage, but had to nod. It was true. She hadn't actually done anything to ensure the building's destruction, just sat menacingly in her gym and threatened implicitly any foolish entrepreneurs who had dreams of fixing the place up. Which meant that concerning this yokel…she had only herself to blame.

"In that case, I think we should quiz this man on his qualifications to purchase the building." Sabrina said. "After all, we wouldn't want just _anyone_ to be buying property in Saffron, now would we?" The scorn was clear in her voice, and again to her rage the chairwoman did not break. Her backbone was exceptionally strong that day.

"Miss Sabrina, that was for all intents and purposes what this meeting was changed to be about." She said curtly. She turned to the young man sitting squeamishly at the desk in front of her and smiled warmly. "Now, could you please state your name for the record?" The young man smiled himself and spoke.

"Certainly. It's Trodaire Phoenix, ma'am." He said. He had a rich, medium voice. Sabrina was kind of hoping he'd have a reedy and obnoxious voice, but the truth was he sounded like (with enough practice) he could record audiobooks and make a good amount of money doing it. So she'd settle for silently mocking his name. _What the hell kind of name is "Trodaire?"_

"Trodaire?" The chairwoman asked. "If you don't mind me asking, where does that name come from?" Phoenix laughed.

"I'm from Orre, madame Chairwoman. That might explain the funny name and the tanned skin." He said. It was true. He was rather tanned, almost bronze. There was a series of faded white tattoos ornately designed across the side of his face, making him look rather tribal. His hair was almost pitch-black, which made for a rather startling contrast against his skin. If his eyes were blue (they were dark green) Sabrina thought he could barely make the cut as a stupid cartoon character. But she continued to swallow her disappointment and rage as he deftly answered the questions laid before him. No, he did not have a criminal record. No, he'd never been in a business venture that went bust. Yes, this was his first property purchase. Yes, he had the appropriate start-up deposit as per Saffron city requirements (_Damn!_)

At the last line of questioning, his answers were surprising.

"Now, are you familiar with the history of the Fighting Dojo?" The Chairwoman asked. Trodaire nodded.

"I am." He said.

"Are you planning on applying for a Pokemon League license?" Came the next question. Sabrina leaned in, eager to hear the naïve boy say what she wanted to hear. Say it, boy. SAY IT!

"I will be applying for a license for trainers to use their Pokemon on the grounds of the Dojo," He began. _Yes! _Sabrina thought to herself. _Halfway home!_

Trodaire paused, then turned to look at Sabrina. The Psychic was stunned as they made eye contact. Why was he looking at her?

"No, I will not be applying for a Badge certification." He said, never breaking eye contact with the gym leader. "There's already one gym leader in Saffron, and I have no intention of competing with that."

As Sabrina silently raged at this unfortunate turn of events, the Chairwoman looked inquisitive.

"If I may ask, Mr. Phoenix, what will you do instead?" She asked.

"I'm going to just make it a gym, a place for trainers to work out and get better. Well…that's the plan, anyway. I might have a long way to go, but that's the ultimate goal." He said proudly.

Sabrina buried her head in her hands in exasperation as the city council granted that stupid boy his proper release forms to begin working on the once-defunct Dojo. As everyone filed out of the courtroom, she happened to glance in his direction. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that he had…winked at her. She nearly threw a psychic bolt at him, but then decided not to.

After all, she'd spent a lot of time on her hair that morning. It would be a shame if EVERYTHING went to waste that day.

Saffron City Gym, Interior. 6:15 P.M.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful, at least for Sabrina. She faced only a few challengers, and delighted in smashing them all into the ground. Her Kadabra looked almost as bored as she did as the latest kid scurried off to the Poke Center to recover his precious little team of Pokemon. One of the senior Psychics, a mystic by the name of Cecilia, walked over to her master and bowed.

"Master Sabrina, if you would forgive my intrusion…you seem…troubled." The elderly woman said respectfully. Sabrina sighed.

"It's nothing, Cecilia. I'm just…" She trailed off. She had an idea. "Cecilia, would you mind handling training sessions and any potential challengers for the rest of the day? I have things I need to take care of." She asked. The elder Psychic bowed and nodded. Sabrina smirked, and walked off. Being a gym leader had its benefits. One of them was the ability to delegate to underlings to face trainers when the leader couldn't be bothered.

Sabrina made her way back to her office in the back of the gym, and closed the door behind her. In the corner of the room, legs criss-crossed Indian style and hovering a few feet off of the floor was her most powerful Pokemon (and confidant): Alakazam. The psychic Pokemon did not open its eyes as his master entered the room.

"_You are troubled." _The Pokemon's psychic abilities were such that it could form them into coherent words and thoughts, and telepathically project them to those it deemed able enough to handle the invasion of mental privacy. Sabrina was one of those people.

"Troubled is not the correct word, old friend." Sabrina said grumpily, hanging her coat on a rack before taking her seat at the desk. "More like disappointed with myself."

_"There is no need to be disappointed, my master. Our foresight in everyday matters is not always as potent as we would like it to be. That as well as your increased duties concerning the Pokemon League branch in this country naturally explains our failure to see this young man coming." _The Pokemon intoned sagely. Sabrina didn't look at him, and instead peered out of her window. Her office had a great view of the old Fighting Dojo, and she had to admit it had given her a perverse sense of pride to watch the once proud place become empty and worn down. That was the extent of her power.

To her surprise, that boy was already there. He had just walked in front of the building, and appeared to be assessing it earnestly. Sabrina knew he couldn't see her (her window was tinted from the outside) but at the same time was cautious not to appear too obvious.

"_You know that he cannot see you with that tinted window." _Alakazam chided, its eyes still closed in deep meditation. Sabrina snarled, but didn't say anything. It was difficult to one-up a being with an estimated IQ of 5000.

She watched the young man survey his new acquisition with his hands on his hips, a goofy grin forming on his face. Sabrina could not understand. What made him so excited about getting a run-down old building? Not that it mattered, she assured herself as she began to work on her laptop and forgot about spying. He would be gone soon enough.

Outside the Fighting Dojo, 6:15 P.M.

_**TRODAIRE**_

With some degree of difficulty, he'd managed to jigger the lock enough to open the door. He was immediately greeted by a blast of cobwebs and dust. Coughing violently, he stepped into the building and took an assessment. The roof looked like it was leaking, and the wallpaper was peeling. There was a terrible draft. The electrical fixtures looked worn and burned out. It smelled like no one had taken out the trash since the last person that had been in here. The main reception office was a tiny little cubby to the left of the front door, a room so small he could almost touch from one wall to the other with his fully stretched wingspan. He walked in there and set up his cot and blanket. When he walked back out, he sat down and looked pensively at the place. Then he smiled, and stood up.

"Time to go to work." Trodaire Phoenix said.

A/N: What do you guys think? Let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

Saffron City Gym, Sabrina's Office 12:05 P.M.

_**SABRINA**_

WHAP.

WHAP.

WHAP.

WHIRRRRRRRRRRR-BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT.

Sabrina had trained herself over the years to achieve an inner mental peace when it came to meditation. If she wanted to, she could shut herself off to the world and contemplate the greater and deeper mysteries of life with her trusty Alakazam as her companion in the great unknown.

WHAP-WHAP-WHAP.

Of course, this was usually without the sound of a hammer and nails (along with a table saw) roaring away outside her window.

Scrunching her eyes in frustration, she stomped over to the window and looked down. Sure enough, there was that dumb old kid busting his butt working on that dumb old dojo. She had taken pride in seeing the many holes and rotted boards on the roof of the place. Now the kid had patched most if not all of them up. In a way she was morbidly impressed. He'd, in the span of maybe three days, completely redone the roof of the place. He'd upended the old shingles, replaced rotting studs, and hammered home a new and quite frankly healthy-looking selection of lumber to replace it all. Now the damned place was starting to look like a gym again.

Of course, the boy wasn't alone. Starting about a day or so ago, Sabrina had noticed that there was this old man who was walking around with him, doing some of the lesser grunt work. Things like replacing the windows and cleaning up the yard. He was a short and pudgy guy, with a face that looked like it had been squashed. Certainly not a beautiful creature, and he was sweating profusely in a rather unflattering way, but he was working harder than she expected. There was also a big and lumbering Pokemon as well sauntering around the yard carrying huge bars of wood and steel to use for the building itself. The thing was barely above four feet tall, but Sabrina knew that one would be foolish to insult a Conkeldurr. Those concrete pillars they carried around were built for smacking around asinine trainers.

She noticed that the younger man was sitting on the edge of the roof now, peering down at his two partners. He was shouting something to the older man, but Sabrina couldn't tell what he was saying. She could probably read his mind if she wanted to…but that would be weird.

With that, she returned back to her work, and tried her best to block out the noise of construction outside.

Outside The Fighting Dojo, 12:10 P.M.

_**TRODAIRE**_

"Yo, Paulie!" Trodaire shouted from the roof. "How's it going down there?" He asked. Below him, the pudgy old man scowled as he pulled away another piece of broken glass.

"Takin' its sweet ol' time, Troddie!" Paulie shouted loudly. The old man was a native of Saffron, and had developed a pronounced twang in his accent. The first time he'd met Trodaire, he'd scrunched his eyes up behind his thick glasses before asking incredulously "What the hell kinda name is _Trodaire?_ Forget that, I'm just callin' yas Troddie!" Trodaire had laughed, but did not object. He needed help with this project, and the chance occurance with Paulie was too good an opportunity to pass up.

_**PAULIE**_

If there was ever a guy who represented the old Saffron grit before Sabrina moved in, it was Paulie Frank. He'd grown up in the city, got a job working the factory plant of Silph. Co., married his high school sweetheart Bettie, put two daughters through college from his assembly-line job, grown old with his wife in their cozy two-bedroom house, and now was getting restless in his older age. He'd always been a fighter who believed in old fashions and traditions, and hated the way Sabrina had brought a detached and hyper-clean attitude to the city. "It's like the place is colder, like a permafrost!" He'd complained to his ever-patient wife one evening. She encouraged him to find something to do if he was so upset, to find a way to make a difference.

So he tried running for city council. Despite being beloved in his neighborhood as that curmudgeonly grandfather-type with a heart of gold, he was not a good public speaker or campaigner. He swept his district of the city near-unanimously, but outside of his rather blue-collar neighborhood was rolled up and tossed aside in favor of someone "more in touch with the rest of the community." A grumpy Paulie attributed it to the guy being favorable to Sabrina. His wife had patiently nodded, knowing it was probably for the best to let him rant instead of arguing. Also, she felt he had a point. Sabrina had the city council in her pocket, for all intents and purposes.

So he tried coaching youth sports. He'd been a boxer in his youth, and the principal of Saffron High was an old classmate of his who knew his ability to connect with kids. And it worked. Again, he was well liked by the parents and beloved by the players. For three years he worked the Saffron High Men's Boxing Team to a competitive edge that looked to challenge for the regional championship, and he'd even helped get a Woman's team off of the ground too. When asked why he went through the trouble, he shrugged and said "Women oughta have the right to beat their men up. It'll get every morose slacker in the city in high gear!" In the end, however, he was again cut out from underneath. Budget cuts to local schools meant auxillary programs needed to be cut, and it was unfortunate that boxing was first on the chopping block. Desperate, Paulie begged the school board and the city council to keep the program running if only to give troubled and at-risk students a healthy outlet. The Council relented (The Chairwoman relented, herself also an old classmate of Paulie's), and they kept the program on one condition: They'd have to save money from somewhere, and Paulie agreed to resign. They'd been paying him peanuts, but now they brought in a clueless and spineless graduate student who they could pay even less. Paulie knew that the program was not going to be the same. He'd remembered seeing Sabrina in the crowd during his hearing, and again spited her.

That was a year ago. He and Bettie were living fine under his retirement benefits and her part-time work as a secretary for Silph Co. (Paulie had grumbled that at least they hadn't stolen his _pension_ away from him), but both of them knew he was getting restless in retirement. Paulie needed to do _something _for the city he'd put so much of himself into, and he needed to do it soon.

In the end, that was where Trodaire had come in.

Paulie had been there at the meeting to determine the fate of the old Fighting Dojo, and admired the way that the kid had stared down that frigid bitch Sabrina, and had kept the place running…at least for now. That was where Paulie felt he could come in. After the meeting, he waddled out of the courthouse as fast as he could and caught up to the kid.

"Hey, kid! Wait up!" He wheezed. Trodaire turned around and saw a squat little man running towards him. He was quite a sight, panting and wheezing out of breath. Trodaire took pity on him, and waited patiently for the old gent to catch his breath. As soon as the red disappeared from his cheeks, he spoke.

"Is there something I can do for you, sir?" Trodaire asked. Paulie scowled.

"Don't 'sir' me, you great big oaf! I'm not Lady Caitlin! I'm Paulie Frank, and I wanted to say thanks for rescuing the Dojo from that ice queen Sabrina! What's your name?" He asked, feverishly shaking Trodaire's hand. Trodaire raised a confused eyebrow.

"Uh…I'm Trodaire." He said. Paulie stopped shaking hands, and looked disbelieving.

"Trodaire? What the hell kinda name is Trodaire? Forget that, I'm just callin' ya's Troddie!" He shrugged. "Whatever. Listen, what are your plans for that place?" Trodaire shrugged.

"Uh, fix the place up and turn it into a gym for trainers to get training in. No badges, no judging. Just a gym." He said. Paulie couldn't believe his ears.

"That's great! I'm in!" He said. Trodaire was about to object, but then Paulie indignantly cut him off. "No, listen to me. First of all, I'm an old fart so you are legally allowed to pay me almost nothing. Secondly, I highly doubt you are planning on fixing that place up just by yourself. You're gonna need help. I got 50 years of work experience in that old Saffron plant working with electrical and foundational equipment. I know how to rig together an electrical system. I know how to fix the plumbing. I know how to put together a roof, how to fix a window that's not broken but that isn't doing its job. I know how to replace rotting wood and studs. Bet you didn't know how to do any of that? Didn't think so. Also, my wife has a Conkeldurr that's dying for some work too. Think of how much we'll get done with him helping!" He finished proudly. Trodaire took a moment to process all of this, and then spoke.

"So, if I agree to let you help me build up the Dojo, what do you want in return?" He asked. Paulie scoffed, as if the answer was the simplest thing in the world.

"HELP, you big oaf! I wanna coach again! I'll be your little secretary; I'll run the books, go get bagels on Friday morning, and be the guy to train when you're off doing your own thing. I just want to be involved again." He ended slightly pathetically, realizing how feeble he sounded. He was 68 years old, and he'd just thrown several years of existential angst on this poor soul. He almost regretted it, before Trodaire took his hand and firmly shook it.

"Deal. Paulie Frank, welcome to the staff of the Fighting Dojo." He said.

For the first time since he'd started that pitiful boxing program, Paulie Ulysses Frank felt alive again.

He thought back to that moment three days ago, as he sighed and took a seat on the grass next to Trodaire and the tired Conkeldurr. The trio stared at the Fighting Dojo in front of them. It'd taken three days of non-stop work, but they could be content in the knowledge that it was no longer worthy of being condemned. Now it could be used.

"It's a pretty sight, isn't it?" Trodaire asked. "A little beat-up here and there, the paint could be a little more modern, it's certainly not the high tech place the real gym is, and it might be a little poorly-lit and dusty inside…"

"It's perfect." Paulie said with a smile. "The place is just perfect for a guy like me."

Conkeldurr grunted, and nodded in agreement.

"Ya got a name for it?" Paulie asked Trodaire. Trodaire shrugged.

"I dunno. Just figured for something simple and clean. Something like 'The Fight Club.' You like that?" He asked. Paulie grinned.

"'The Fight Club,'" He said, experimenting with the phrase on his tongue. He approved. "I like it! Sounds like a good old-fashioned, hard-nosed place to get stronger." He let out a satisfied sigh. "Now that we're open for business, I think that this is gonna be the start of a beautiful partnership." Trodaire chuckled.

Well, it's one thing to have the equipment we need and the space available, Paulie. Now we need clients. Customers, if you will." He said. Paulie smirked.

"I think I know some people…"

A/N: Chapter 2 down! Next chapter, The Fight Club is open for business!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

The Fight Club, 10:10 A.M.

_**TRODAIRE**_

Paulie wasn't kidding. He did know some people. The very next day, he'd brought with him several former students of his from the boxing team, as well as a family friend whose grandson had just registered a training license. All in all, there were five pairs of eyes looking up at the boxing ring in the center of the building, where Trodaire leaned against the ropes to look back at them. He quick glanced around. In the half-second it took him to do so, he noted that the heavy bags and speed bags were secure, the weights were properly racked, and most importantly there wasn't anything lying around for someone to trip on. He then cleared his throat.

"Welcome to the Fight Club." He said. "I'm sure you've noticed that this place is a lot different-looking than the last time this place was open. Back then it was The Fighting Dojo. As you can guess, with the name change comes a change in direction for the place. We're not about mystical martial arts that are disconnected from the rest of the world." He smacked his fist into his palm. "We're about utilizing the most important aspects of fighting and using what is practical. You want to be flashy and full of show? Join the Contest circuit. You wanna win battles, knock off gym leaders and challenge champions? This is your place."

Paulie watched the younger man lecture the group. He didn't think that Trodaire was this passionate about the job, seeing as how he was barely in his twenties. But the way he was laying out the Fight Club's mission statement, you could have sworn he was an old master. That's how confident he sounded. A far cry from his slightly more skittish public personality.

"We're gonna start with our first lesson: trust. Right now, without even thinking, I want you all to call upon your most trusted companion. GO!" He clapped his hands. The trainers each instinctively called their best friend from their Pokeballs. Trodaire surveyed the quintet of Pokemon in front of him: there was a Mankey, two Machop, a Spearow, and Cubone. Trodaire smiled. _Good._ He could work with this. "Paulie!" He called out. "You and Conkeldurr set up the heavy bags in the corner and work with the Mankey, Spearow and Cubone. I'll start with the two Machop."

Paulie raised an eyebrow.

"Whaddaya want me ta do?" He asked. Trodaire smiled.

"Teach them power strikes. All of them have the ability to learn quick attack, so let them sharpen that move." He replied. Paulie nodded, and with a bark hustled the three trainers and their Pokemon over to the corner of the gym. Trodaire turned towards the two high school students and their Machop, and pointed to the Pokemon. "You two are getting in the ring with me." He ignored their confused expression, and looked at the trainers. "You two get in this corner of the ring and pay attention." Again ignoring _their _confused expressions, Trodaire took off his hoodie to reveal a cut-off tee shirt underneath. As the two Pokemon navigated through the ropes, Trodaire wrapped on his fighting gloves.

"Ok, so you are fighting type Pokemon, so I imagine you like brawling right?" He asked the two Machop. They nodded eagerly. Trodaire continued. "So here's what I'm gonna do: I'm gonna teach you guys how to permanently swing a fight into your comfort zone." He pointed to one of the two trainers.

"Kid? What's your name?" He asked. The kid replied a little uncertainly.

"Uh…Bobby." He said.

"You're names 'Uh…Bobby?'" Trodaire asked, teasingly.

"No, no! It's Bobby." The kid said with more confidence. He pointed to his Machop. "This is Chucks." The Machop flexed proudly. Trodaire rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"Ok, Chucks. I'm gonna teach you how to live up to your name. First, we'll do this in slow motion so that the other guy can see it. I want you to slowly rush me, as if you are a speedy Pokemon." He began. The Machop complied, half-running to Trodaire's position. To its surprise, as soon as it was within arm's length of Trodaire the trainer shot his arms out and wrapped them around the Pokemon's back. "Don't panic!" Trodaire said. "I've now got you in a clinch. This is great because if I have my arms underneath yours like so, that gives me greater leverage. The move you're gonna learn is what I like to call a 'back fall-to submission.' You gain leverage, you collapse one of your legs behind you, roll backwards…" He demonstrated, rolling backwards while pulling the Machop with him. When the move was finished, Trodaire was now on top of the Machop, which was pinned to the ground. "From this position, you pretty much win. You can throw punches, Karate Chops, or even move to a Submission." He maneuvered around until he was holding the Machop's arm into what he called an "arm bar" position. He pulled gently, the Pokemon let out a small yelp, and then immediately released. Trodaire then got back to his feet, and helped the startled Pokemon to its feet as well.

Bobby and his friend looked at Trodaire with stunned silence. The guy had willingly gone in the ring with a Machop, and demonstrated how to beat one up. That either took guts or insanity. Maybe a little bit of both. Trodaire chuckled.

"That's a great move for facing opponents that are around your same size. If they're bigger…well you just gotta plant your feet and brace well. Ready to work on it?" He asked the two Machops. They both eagerly nodded, and set about practicing.

While they exchanged blows, Trodaire took the time to talk to Bobby and his friend (named Ritchie).

"Now, why did you come here to work out-_Wrap tighter, Chucks!_" He asked the two trainers, and then turned to bark an instruction at the Pokemon. Ritchie shrugged.

"We're from Goldenrod, and we were thinking of challenging the gym, but Whitney is tough…" He said. Bobby nodded.

"Yeah, she may be Normal-type but she thrashed our buddy who had a Hitmonchan. It was embarrassing. We found out about this place through my aunt, who lives here and knows your partner Paulie. She said maybe we'll learn something, and that we should come." He said. Trodaire nodded.

"I see. Well, if I recall correctly, Whitney has a team that will be very susceptible to ground-and-pound battling. You would do well to have Chucks and Bracer practice these moves a lot to get them down perfectly." He said, and then his face darkened. "I do not teach anyone to hurt another person's Pokemon. I am here to teach safe yet unorthodox methods of dealing with a battle, but make no mistake they can seriously injure a Pokemon on the receiving end of the attack. So make SURE you are aware of that." He added sharply. Bobby and Ritchie nodded furiously. Trodaire nodded as well, and then continued to watch the two fighting Pokemon exchange powerful blows.

The Fight Club, 5 P.M.

_**TRODAIRE**_

The rest of the day had gone by swimmingly. After a few hours of work, he was confident that those two Machop were going to do well against Whitney. According to Paulie, the Spearow, Makey and Cubone had all learned to really hit with confidence. Paulie had spent a good half hour or so bragging about his knowledge of how to get someone swinging with pride, which to him was the only thing you needed to hit full power. Trodaire simply smiled and listened to the little man wind himself up. It was rather humorous. It was also incredibly cathartic for the older man to talk like this, too. He raised an eyebrow.

"By the way, did any of those kids commit to being members?" Paulie asked. "Cuz only one of them did from my group: the Cubone kid. Joey, I think it was." Trodaire sighed.

"I got Bobby, but that was it. Ritchie made some lame excuse up that he didn't think he could make it work." He said. He glowered a little bit. "I didn't like the way that Ritchie was talking about the technique I taught those Machop concerning how he'd use it against Whitney. I don't want there to be anything bad happen because of something I taught." He added. Paulie sighed.

"Wanna give the Goldenrod gym a call?" the old man asked. "It might be helpful to prevent anything like that from happening." Trodaire shook his head.

"No, I don't think so. His Machop was really bad at the technique, more interested in the getting on top of and punching part than the technical execution. Chucks on the other hand was waaayyy better at the execution. Bobby was also like a sponge in the corner, too." He said. Then he sighed. "So that's what…$50 for the day?" Paulie shrugged.

"Ah, well. It was a good start. We'll get some good people in here soon, Troddie. Just keep on working, and you know that I've got your back kiddo."

Trodaire found this grumpy old man's reassurances very comforting.

And so it went, dear readers, for the next few weeks. The duo worked tirelessly at their post, balancing the budget as evenly as they could to keep things afloat. Some days they had to leave the lights off during slow hours to conserve on the electricity bill, at the cost of appearing closed. Paulie had suggested putting up a sign that jokingly said NOT CLOSED, JUST CHEAP but Trodaire vetoed that idea. So far, the only consistent customers were Bobby (whose Machop was now well-versed in Trodaire's ground-and-pound fighting style) and some other hanger-on trainers and older gentlemen from Paulie's neighborhood. Trodaire appreciated that, but with each day nervously glanced at the calendar. He needed to file a successful annual budget report five months from now, and though that was still a long while away at this rate he would never drum up enough funds. Paulie kept coming up with hare-brained ideas, but none of them were workable. It seemed almost a lost cause.

That is, until one day a young couple breezed in through the front door…

The Fight Club, 10 A.M.

_**PAULIE**_

Paulie almost didn't hear them come in the front door, he was so busy crunching numbers. He was an old school guy, using an actual accounting book instead of an electronic version on the computer. In fact, he might've completely blown them off if not for a polite cough to get his attention. He looked up.

"Hiya, welcome to the Fight Club where-WOW!" He exclaimed, suddenly taking in who was talking to him. Two young adults, one a silver-haired young man dressed immaculately with a blazer and cufflinks and the other…well, she looked like she'd stepped down from Heaven to visit poor mortals. Long and shining gold hair with a dark dress that contrasted her bright features so much it was almost painful. They both had reserved smiles on their faces. His left and her right hand were intertwined. Paulie blinked once to clear his head, and then spoke again. "M-may I help ya's, mister and missus?" He asked. There was a relieved look on the woman's face when she spoke.

"Oh, you don't know who we are?" She asked, a very obvious trace of relief in her voice. No malice, no indignant pouting. Just genuine and pleased surprise that he didn't recognize them. She looked to who must be her significant other, and spoke again in that sweet voice of hers. "Steven, tell him why we're here."

"We were passing through town on unrelated business when we noticed that the Fighting Dojo was now open for business," He said. His manner of speaking was calm, smooth and crisp. "Though now I guess it's called the Fight Club, am I right?" He asked, a little smirk playing on his face. Paulie nodded dumbly. These two were obviously from the upper end of the train tracks. Why were they here? Furthermore, why were they giving a lowly mutt like him the time of day? He was distracted by the sounds of punches and kicks, and remembered that Trodaire was in the boxing ring beating the stuffing out of the heavy bag he'd set up in the middle.

"Yo, Troddie! We's got customers!" He shouted. He then quickly turned to the couple. "You's are customers, right?" He asked sheepishly. The lady giggled and nodded. The man next to her smiled as well.

Trodaire finished off the last of his blistering punch and kick combo, and sauntered away from the heavy bag. He was planning on leaning against the ropes to catch his breath, thanking the heavens that they were strong enough to support him. Good thing to, because when he saw whom their customers were he fell forward in shock anyway.

"You's ok, Troddie?" Paulie asked as his young friend barely managed to catch himself in the ropes. Trodaire looked over at Paulie with wild eyes.

"Paulie…" He began unsurely. "Why are the former Hoenn and current Sinnoh champs in our gym?" He asked. Paulie was confused. He looked to Trodaire, then back to the couple. Trodaire, to the couple. Trodaire…Couple…

_Click._

"OH SWEET BUTTERY MAKUHITA!" Paulie yelped, nearly tumbling out of his chair. "P-please excuse me for my bluntness, your majesties!" He said. Steven rolled his eyes.

"Cynthia and I are not royalty, Paulie." He said. Cynthia giggled a little bit.

"I think the sentiment is adorable." She said. Steven shrugged, and then turned to Trodaire.

"What is your name?" He asked.

"T-Trodaire." Trodaire said. Steven nodded.

"Are you the owner of the Fight Club?" He asked. Trodaire nodded. Cynthia smiled.

"Do you offer one on one training sessions?" She asked. Trodaire shrugged.

"Uh…normally we're grou-" Paulie, in what was perhaps the greatest and most heroic moment in his life, interrupted his clueless young friend right there.

"YES!" He said. "Yes we do." He said, throwing an _ARE YOU INSANE?_ look at Trodaire for good measure. The young man played off of it. Cynthia smiled.

"Good, then we'd like to hire you to help Steven." She said.

There was a stunned silence. Trodaire found his voice.

"You want me to train…Steven Stone?" He asked. "As in, Steven Stone the former champion of Sinnoh?" Cynthia nodded. Steven looked rather embarrassed, so she spoke for him.

"There's a battle coming up, and Steven is slotted to face off against a potent opponent. The thing is, he's been…out of practice as a battler." She said. Steven looked a little indignant.

"I'm not 'out of practice!'" He insisted. "I've just been…busy with my research on rare stones."

"If you're so content with collecting rocks, then why did you walk in my gym with her?" Trodaire asked quietly. That question came out of nowhere, and Paulie had to look back at his young friend. Where did he get the stones to directly challenge a CHAMP like that? Then he realized: Trodaire was in his element. This must be what he does best. Trodaire continued staring bullet holes at Steven. "Because if you are really content with where you are in life, you'd have convinced her that this wasn't worth the trouble. My gym has only been open for about two weeks, and the only reason that you're here is that fate led Cynthia to seeing this place, and you must've been so _desperate _to win that you're willing to take a flyer on this. How am I doing, am I in the ballpark?" He asked. Steven, normally a cool and collected individual, turned scarlet with embarrassment. He couldn't look Trodaire in the eye. Cynthia spoke for him.

"That's the thing," she said. "He doesn't like admitting that he's a bit behind." Steven just nodded.

"Your pride is messing with you, just get rid of it." Trodaire said. He raised an eyebrow. "By the way, what's this fight you're going to?"

"It's the World Tournament in Unova." Steven said. Trodaire's eyes bugged out of his head.

"The World Tournament?" He asked incredulously. "That's some top notch competition!" He said. He narrowed his eyes. "Who'd you draw?"

There was a long pause. Now both Cynthia _and _Steven looked meek. Trodaire felt a sense of dread coming on.

"Who did you draw, Steven?" Trodaire asked. Steven Stone spoke, but when he did it was barely a whisper.

"Lance…" He muttered.

Trodaire nearly fainted right there. His head was spinning. He was supposed to train Steven to beat _Lance? _Lance, the _Dragon Master?_ Lance, perhaps the most beloved and respected trainer of all time? _That _Lance? At that moment, he nearly broke and ordered these two nuts right out of his gym. There was no way to do this. It wasn't asking the impossible, it was asking for the insane. But then, another thought struck him. _This could be the break we need._ He thought. If he helped Steven, maybe he could get some attention for the Fight Club. That would be absolutely be worth the money to fill out an annual budget report in time. So instead of screaming, he steeled his resolve.

"Right now, draw out your six most trusted Pokemon." Trodaire said. Steven complied, and threw six Poke balls. As soon as the light settled, Trodaire began his assessment. He was thankful to recognize all of them: Metagross, Aggron, Excadrill, Armaldo, Cradily, and Claydol. Each of them incredibly powerful Pokemon on their own. But none of them capable of moves that would easily take down a dragon. Also, they were big and strong Pokemon, and they were eying him with suspicion. Steven spoke to them.

"Guys, this is Trodaire. He's here to help us compete in the World Tournament. Anything he says is to be treated as something I would say, unless otherwise indicated. Understood?" He asked. The six Pokemon all respectfully nodded, and then proceeded to respectfully give their full attention to Trodaire. Trodaire at that moment felt an immeasurable power in his hands. He cleared his throat.

"Ok. You heard your trainer. I'm here to help you compete. Which means I'm here to help you _win._ Your master didn't say it, but I know that's what you all really want to do. No champion's team wants to finish the race. You want to finish it FIRST. Correct?" He asked. Steven and his Pokemon nodded in the affirmative. Cynthia and Paulie were struck by how commanding Trodaire was. The gym master continued.

"You all know who you're facing. Lance, the champion of the Kanto branch of the Pokemon League. This region, to be precise. And he trains dragons. Ever faced a dragon before?" He asked. All six Pokemon shook their heads. Trodaire cleared his throat.

"To beat a dragon, you need speed…you don't have it." He said, looking each Pokemon directly in the eye. "And purely based on your biology, none of you have high potential for lateral movement. So that means heavy running is out. And again based on your biology, none of you are particularly good at counterstriking. So sparring is out."

"Then what do we have?" Steven asked a little testily. His Pokemon looked like they agreed. Trodaire's dangerous smile, however, allayed their fears.

"The one thing you _do _have to rely on, and as a native of Orre is music to my ears, is good old fashioned blunt. Force. Trauma. Horsepower. Heavy-duty, cast-iron, pile-driving shots that'll hurt so bad it'll rattle those dragons' ancestors! Every time they take one of your shots-" He smacked his fist into his palm. "-It's gonna feel like they tried kissing the Goldenrod Express!"

As he cracked his knuckles, every being in that gym felt the same excitement he was conveying. And when Trodaire spoke again, they all believed there was a chance.

"Yeah…Let's start building some hurtin' bombs!"

A/N: A hell of a challenge. A hell of a team. A hell of training is about to begin.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

The Fight Club, 2 P.M.

_**STEVEN**_

The next day, Steven and Cynthia entered the Fight Club with his trusted team, where the former Hoenn champion got a moment to see Trodaire in action. He could only watch as the gym master began running around the gym, yelling out instructions to Paulie and their Conkeldurr. _Get the heavy bags out_, Trodaire shouted. _Find the PSI counter and wire it up. _And _and for Arceus' sake, get the first aid kits ready!_ That last bit worried Steven. What was Trodaire planning to do to his team that required first aid kits? He didn't show it, but he was concerned. Cynthia, on the other hand, was much better at reading emotions than most people and walked close to him.

"It'll be okay, Steven." She said reassuringly. "I trust him." Steven sighed.

"I know, Cynthia. But that doesn't make me any less concerned. I mean, what was it about this guy that made you insist on dragging me in here, of all places? Couldn't we have gone to a league-sanctioned gym?" He asked. Cynthia looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really want to have to deal with league newspaper beat writer paparazzo asking why you're training so frantically to get ready to lose to Lance?" She asked. She knew that she'd touched a sore spot. "Honey, don't act like that isn't what people are thinking. For all intents and purposes, you're supposed to be a warm up for Lance. Everyone's billing it as either his tournament to lose…or his friend's." She added. They both let the mention of that second person hang reverentially in the air for a few moments. "Besides," Cynthia added. "How great would it be to be called Steven Stone, Dragon Slayer?" She asked teasingly, with a wink. Steven blushed.

"I'd rather die than be called something like that." He said with a small smile. In front of them, Trodaire and his crew had finished setting up the gym to their liking. There was a machine with a heavy bag attached to it. Paulie pressed a button on the console, and the thing whirred to life. Trodaire cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

"This baby right here is an old-school PSI counter. Throw everything you've got into the pad like so-" He smacked the pad with his fist, registering an impressive 200 PSI on the counter. "-And Paulie here will record it. Think of it as your baseline number. You are starting from the bottom. I want to know if you can make marked progress in the time we're given here. Make sense?" The six Pokemon nodded in acceptance. Trodaire clapped his hands together. "Great! Who's first?"

There was a guttural growl, and a steel-covered Pokemon stomped forward. Steven couldn't help but smile. Of course his Aggron would volunteer to be the first striker. Aggron was one of his oldest friends, and easily the proudest. It prided itself on bone-rattling shots, and clearly wanted to prove that to Trodaire. It stood in front of the heavy bag, waited for Paulie to give it the thumbs up, and then with a roar smashed it as hard as it could with a Mega Punch. The machine immediately shot up to 2150 PSI, and everyone in the gym (Pokemon included) expressed impressment. Everyone except Trodaire.

"Pssh. I've seen female Tyrannitar slap their newborns harder than that." He chided. Aggron turned around to face him, its face raging with anger. Trodaire just laughed. "Don't worry, big guy. When I'm done with you, you'll be able to collapse skyscrapers." This confidence placated the wounded ego of the Pokemon, and Aggron stepped off to the side. Then came Armaldo. 1750 PSI. Claydol hit 1020. Cradily could only use its head, so its 1000 PSI was impressive given the lack of limbs. Excadrill got to 1600, and then proceeded to whoop and holler with excitement. Metagross stared at the machine with what appeared to be a bemused expression. Its eyes glowed, and suddenly the bag lurched back like it had been hit by an invisible punch. The PSI counter? 2000. Trodaire did a double take to Steven, who just shrugged.

"Metagross likes Extrasensory." He said sheepishly. Cynthia giggled.

For a few moments, Paulie tallied the data. After giving it to Trodaire, the young man smiled and nodded.

"Alright, this is a good start." He said. "Each of you is very promising, and has a lot of potential to get better." He began to scribble something absently on the clipboard he had grabbed earlier. Steven raised an eyebrow.

"That's it, Trodaire? That's all you've got? My guys crushed that bag!" He said somewhat indignantly. Trodaire didn't even look up from the clipboard, and walked over to the wall. He took out a dry erase marker, and in big blocky letters wrote **5000** in bold. Paulie cleared his throat.

"Uh, Troddie? What's 5000?" He asked. Trodaire turned around and smiled. He looked at the six Pokemon, and drew their collective attention by pointing at the number.

"This is the number 5000. That's a big number, is it not? It's the estimated IQ level of an average Alakazam. It's how much it costs to ride the S.S. Anne for a weeklong cruise. And it is _**ON AVERAGE-**_" He suddenly raised his voice to grab everyone's attention. "-How **HARD** a Dragon can register on that same damned machine!" He nearly shouted. He looked at Steven's Aggron directly in the eye. "You see that number, big guy? That means that the average Dragonite can hit you more than twice as hard as you can hit it. The _average_ Dragonite. Don't get me started on Hydreigon, or Salamance, or Haxorus, or even Garchomp. And let's not even BEGIN on when they start using Dragon Dance." He looked at everyone else in the room, and in the dim light he looked frightening. "Now do you understand what I'm trying to do, here? Now do you understand why I need you to listen to every word I say to the letter the way you'd listen to Steven? Because the only way you are beating Lance's Dragons is if you can hit them harder than you…and you're already two and a half times in the hole."

There was silence. Trodaire stepped into the light, and then spoke again.

"Do you know something? When you guys left last night, I took the liberty of researching what people are saying about this fight. Do you want to hear it?" He asked. Steven blushed, but nodded. So Trodaire began. "They think you're all a joke. A gimmick of a team. Steel types can't beat Dragons. Dragons are legends. Dragons are what the stories we tell our kids are made of. They'll dazzle the crowd, and crush you and throw you into the wind! That's what they _all _think is going to happen to Steven Stone and his Steel rejects." He paused. "But you know what _I _see? I see a group of Pokemon and a trainer that don't have a drop of flash in them and furthermore couldn't give a shit either way. You're not going to this fight to put on a show. You're going to this fight to beat the Hell out of something. That's the essence of building hurtin' bombs, boys. But in order for you to get to that point, you need to know: your first day is going to be pathetic. Even if you think you are strong, you are not. But you will be. By Arceus, you will be. Now!" He clapped his hands, startling everyone. "Let's start working the heavy bags, hmm?" He led the six Pokemon over to the heavy bags in the corner of the gym.

_**SABRINA**_

"He's up to something. I just know it." Sabrina said. She had been meditating for the past hour, hovering slightly over the carpet in front of her desk, her thoughts continuously going back to that punk next door. In the corner of the room, her Alakazam tutted.

"_Madame, if I did not know any better, I would say you are smitten with our neighbor."_ It chided. Sabrina's eyes snapped wide open.

"NO!" She shouted. In that split second, she realized that she had broken her concentration, and fell on her butt with a dull thud. Groaning, she rubbed her backside as her faithful partner floated over to her. It opened its eyes to reveal a knowing glint.

"_I may be ill-read on Shakespearean literature, but I do believe that you doth protest too much, My Lady._" It said. Sabrina growled.

"That's the last time I give you classic literature to read out of the library." She grumbled. Alakazam shrugged, still hovering in the air.

"_I doubt you would be able to stop me if I wanted to brush up on my readings, My Lady. I have already gone through your private reading library and I must say…I never expected you to find trite and sparkling creatures worthy of your time._" It said. Sabrina whirled on Alakazam, her face cartoonishly angry.

"SHUT IT!" She hissed. Rare was it that anyone could get Sabrina to break her stoic demeanor. Alakazam was one of the rare few. It noticed her staring at the window intently, and frowned slightly.

"_You must not spend so much time worrying about this boy._" It said. "_He poses no threat to you._" Sabrina turned around to face her old friend and to Alakazam's surprise there was genuine confusion on her face.

"But that's the problem, Alakazam. He has not made a single move on the Saffron Gym. Not one! He's never asked to request a sparring session, he's never made a challenge as to be the supreme gym of the city…nor made a crude pass at me." She added this last one with a slightly embarrassed tone. Alakazam's expression was mirthful.

"_What a pity that last one is._" It said. It conjured up two spoons in its hands, and began to spin them around playfully. "_It has been such a long time since I have been able to indulge in my Kitchen Fu._" Sabrina turned to her Pokemon and rolled her eyes. For a supposed intellectual supercomputer, Alakazam certainly had a childish sense of humor.

"I don't understand you sometimes, old friend." She admitted. Alakazam raised an eyebrow.

"_I suppose that is the truth, My Lady. But do not let it bother you. There is only one that really understands my thinking, anyway._" It said, floating back to its meditation corner. Sabrina was confused.

"Who would that be?" She asked. Alakazam finished floating back to its position, and before it turned itself off to the world to again explore the wonders of the infinite, said a single word.

"_Me._"

It closed its eyes, leaving a very bemused trainer next to it.

Sabrina took a seat at her desk, and checked the watch. It was almost closing time. There was no point in bothering Alakazam: the Psychic was more than capable of being a one-Pokemon night watch. Yawning loudly, Sabrina decided she'd crash in the small bedroom she'd had installed next door to her office, forgoing the long walk back to her mansion home. She made a quick call to her butler to let him know this arrangement, before walking to the door of her home away from home. Unlocking the door, she proceeded to collapse on the bed, groaning in exhaustion. Another day, another grueling gauntlet of curb stomping the hell out of every challenger. She'd received an email the other day from the Pokemon League, both congratulating her and expressing surprise at her 0% trainer success rate over the few months, and in particular over the past few weeks or so. It was as if she had found something new to hate, and was channeling that into fighting spirit. _If only they knew…_She thought to herself. Still, she couldn't fall asleep yet. There was still something she needed to take care of.

Namely, she needed to figure out what the deal was with this Trodaire kid. But how? What was his weakness?

The answer would come to her soon enough, and in a way that almost seemed like an accident.

_**PAULIE**_

Paulie had seen many crazy things in his life. A freshman in his boxing team knocking out the defending senior regional champ with one punch. The launch of the global Pokemon storage system founded by Bill. And even the coming of Sabrina was kind of crazy. But none of these things held a candle to the stunning display in front of him here at the Celadon department store.

There was Trodaire, holding some supplies they needed for the gym. Steven's team had been going through padded heavy bags like tissue paper, so Trodaire had proposed a radical solution to fixing this problem. Personally, Paulie had thought this was a hare-brained idea even by _his_ standards, but decided to go along with it. Plus, it still wasn't as crazy as the sight in front of him. Trodaire was currently talking to the three elder Sensational Sisters of Cerulean City, a trio famous for their beauty and perkiness. Also, the fact that they had a creepily large male fanhood. Okay, so that wasn't so impressive. Trodaire wasn't a bad-looking guy, Paulie reasoned. It wasn't beyond reasonable doubt he could get the time of day from those three. No, the absolutely _insane_ thing was this:

Trodaire wasn't really talking to the girls. He was blushing furiously and mumbling like an idiot, his voice barely rose above a whisper. And the broads weren't getting the hint! They thought he was being cute and "playing hard to get." They were so badly invading his personal space that if it were possible for a human to do so Trodaire would become a tomato. Arceus, the girls were practically running their hands through his pockets looking for loose change! So Paulie came to his rescue.

"Ladies!" He said, waddling over to the quartet. "I hate to interrupt your meeting with my friend Trodaire here-" He was cut off by the middle sister, Violet.

"Oooh, Trodaire? What a cute name! What's it mean?" She purred, leaning towards Trodaire. The poor guy was clearly out of his element.

"Well, uh, it-um, it means-" He was cut off by Paulie.

"Don't worry, dolls! There'll be plenty of time to meet your new friend Trodaire here at the Fight Club, the newest addition to the fine city of Saffron!" He threw that last sentence in to attract attention to the scene, so that the sisters would finally realize they were massively breaking societal rules of PDA. So they drew back a bit, but they were intrigued by the little man's statement.

"Oh, The Fight Club?" Lily, the youngest of the three, said. "Sounds like _fun._ I think we'll be there, won't we girls?" She asked her sisters. Daisy, the oldest sister, just nodded. The three of them giggled, called out a goodbye to Trodaire and promised to visit the Fight Club, and then blew him a synchronized kiss that would've knocked the swooning guy over if not for Paulie grabbing onto his waist and escorting him away.

"Great bumbling Groudon!" Paulie grunted to Trodaire when they had walked back to Paulie's pickup truck. "You gots rocks in ya's head, Troddie?" He asked incredulously. Trodaire blinked dumbly.

"Huh?" He asked. Paulie legitimately smacked his forehead with his palm. Ignoring the stinging, he cleared his throat.

"Them dolls! They was droolin' all over yahs! And yah were too clueless ta sees that they thought you were the bees knees?" He said. Trodaire finally realized.

"They thought I was hot?" He asked incredulously. Paulie just sighed, and with a chuckle exclaimed that he had found Trodaire's flaw: great with a punching bag, gawdawful with the gals! He was singing off key ditties the whole way back to The Fight Club.

What those two hadn't noticed in the midst of that incredible scene was that someone else had spotted the whole event from the safety of her café table. By the greatest stroke of luck, she'd been visiting Celadon to see her friend Erika, and to even go shopping later with her and their other friend Misty. Misty, the fourth of the Sensational Sisters (Though Misty was prone to beating people up with that mallet of hers whenever someone made that connection) that is. And here she'd seen something that proved that that dumb ol' kid from the Fight Club had a weakness after all: he was painfully shy around girls.

"Well what do you know…" Sabrina muttered to no one in particular. Originally, she hadn't any plans for the weekend. Now, it looked like she'd finally found something to plan for. And she was going to need a little help from her friends…

A/N: Yup, for all of his savant-like genius in the gym, Trodaire is the anti-Brock. Wonder where that'll lead the story? We'll find out! Read and Review!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**SABRINA**_

"I'm telling you, there's something up with this kid." Sabrina hissed. "I don't like him one bit. He's nothing but a meathead, and he's making me look bad!" Across the table from her, her friends Misty and Erika rolled their eyes almost in unison. When their friend had called asking them to meet her in Saffron for a get together, they'd agreed on the explicit condition that Sabrina would not engage in one of her paranoid rants. They had, in their careful wording, unfortunately left a loophole that let her discuss something else: her annoyance with Trodaire. Maybe they should just tell her not to speak?

"I doubt he's that bad, Sabrina." Misty said. "Otherwise there'd be complaints. And after all, hasn't he expressly stated that he has no interest in competing with you for gym title hood? He doesn't get league funding because of that. Really, he's a bit crazy, if anything."

"I think Misty's right. You're probably overreacting." Erika said. "But if you're so determined to see how crazy he is, maybe we should go with you." At this Sabrina raised her eyebrows.

"Why? I can handle myself!" She said indignantly. Misty, however, had caught on to what Erika was insinuating and smiled.

"We know, Rina. But I don't know if he could handle three stunning women walking into his gym. At the same time. Together." She said. Sabrina had finally realized what they were getting at, and thus shared an evil grin with Misty. Erika just sighed and rolled her eyes.

Little did Misty know that this was precisely what Sabrina had intended them all to do. And they thought they were above her scheming and manipulations…

The Fight Club, 1:10 P.M.

It was going to be a piece of cake. According to the schedule, the place never had too many people during this time of day, so it was likely this Trodaire guy would be all by himself. From spying with Alakazam (who never ceased chiding her for her efforts), Sabrina had learned that the old man Paulie left from 1 to 3 P.M. to be with his wife for lunch and to help around the house. While Sabrina, Misty and Erika all thought this was adorable, they also knew this meant there would be no one to save Trodaire. It helped them that they had chosen to wear some of their more…_revealing_ clothing. Then again, it took Misty a bit more convincing than Sabrina would have expected. Apparently, she _really_ didn't want to have anything in common with her more provocative sisters.

To their surprise, when they entered the gym most of the lights were off. There was no one inside that they could see. But they heard something. It sounded like…wood being struck? Yeah, that was it. Something was striking a wooden surface. But this didn't sound like a hammer on nails. No, it sounded crisper, and hollower. It echoed off of the walls. It was almost a musical sound, coming in slow and steady beats at one point followed by sharp staccato beats the next minute. They followed the source of the sound to the back corner of the dojo. There was Trodaire, facing away from them. He hadn't heard them come in. He was…well, he wasn't _punching_ that wooden dummy (that's what it must've been, with those two pieces of wood sticking out clearly meant to resemble arms)…but he was striking it. His arms seemed to be crisscrossing and slapping and striking, but it didn't look like fighting. It looked…like dancing? It was unlike anything the girls had seen before, and the fact that Trodaire had no idea they were there and watching certainly made it even more breath taking. For the longest time, Sabrina had looked down on Fighting as a meathead type of Pokemon and personality. Sabrina felt uncomfortably warm, and it wasn't because the gym was hot.

Finally, Trodaire turned around to see that he had an audience. His eyes widened in embarrassment, but then he quickly covered with a blank expression.

"Oh!" He said. "I, uh, didn't hear you all come in…Um, can I help you?" He asked. Sabrina quick glanced over at Erika and Misty, who had completely abandoned their original plan and seemed more content to just stare. So much for operation "coyly flirt with/embarrass the guy." So she spoke.

"We wanted to see what this place was all about." She said, trying her best to sound cold. Trodaire adopted a slightly bemused look, before throwing a hoodie over his shoulders to cover up his cut-off tee shirt. Sabrina could've sworn she heard a soft noise of disappointment from either Erika or Misty. Probably both.

"Um, ok? I, uh, don't really know what else I can, uh, say Miss Sabrina." Trodaire said. "Uh…what do you wanna know?"

_Shit._ Now Sabrina was on the defensive, and that clueless mutt didn't even know he had her there! Now she had to bargain.

"Well…" She trailed off, desperately thinking. "How has business been?" She asked, and then mentally smacked herself for asking such an asinine question. To her relief, he didn't seem offended.

"We have a few devoted customers, and one or two scheduled for private training." He said. He raised an eyebrow. "Uh, are you…asking to schedule an, um, appointment?" He said. "Because…I'd, uh, need some time to figure out your team's, um, strengths and weaknesses…" To the surprise of everyone, Erika spoke up.

"Actually, I'm considering looking into this place. However, I don't think that now is the best time considering I don't even have my team with me…So can I come back tomorrow to discuss it?" She said. Both Sabrina and Misty looked at her like she had three heads. But before they could say anything, Trodaire did something none of them expected: he laughed.

"Uh, sure! I'll tell Steven and Cynthia they can take the day off tomorrow so that his team can recuperate." He said, without realizing it. In a few moments, he regretted it.

Not because these gym leaders got angry, oh no. But because they (with the exception of Sabrina) launched into an _in unison_ squeal of epic proportions.

"OHMIGOD YOU'RE TRAINING STEVEN STONE?" Misty asked breathlessly. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US IN THE FIRST PLACE?" She had a huge crush on the guy, but knowing that he was taken (for keeps, it looked like) she contented herself with hero-worshipping his girlfriend Cynthia. Erika's eyes were bugging out of her head in excitement. She'd never seen either of them, but had heard Lance speak respectfully of both at League meetings whenever the topic of Champions came up. Trodaire laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head.

"Well, uh, it's not that big of a deal. He just asked if I could help him out, is all." He finished sheepishly. Sabrina couldn't help but roll her eyes. Her master plan to embarrass and humiliate this Trodaire kid _clearly_ was off to a _fantastic _start. Groaning softly, she cleared her throat to get his attention.

"Not to interrupt my friends here, but when will you be training Mr. Stone's team?" She asked. She felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Right now, I think." Cynthia said cheerily. Thankfully, the gym was poorly lit, otherwise everyone would have seen Sabrina's face as red as a tomato. Misty and Erika let out another series of in-unison squeals, and immediately introduced themselves to Steven and reacquainted themselves with Cynthia. Sabrina watched wistfully from the shadows, horribly embarrassed. Trodaire seemed to have forgotten about everything that had just transpired, and cleared his throat to get Steven's attention.

"Send out your team." He said. Sabrina noticed with wonder that any trace of his awkwardness had completely vanished. He was now clearly in control. Steven nodded, and sent out his six Pokemon. The four females quietly walked over to the side of the gym and took a seat at the table, where Paulie had come back with donuts ("Just so ya's don't starve watchin' my boy Troddie goin' ta work," the old man had said.) As soon every Pokemon was out and stretched, Trodaire whistled. There was the sound of grunting, and from the back of the gym came Bettie's Conkeldurr, huffing and puffing as it carried a pair of heavy bags over its shoulders. However, these bags seemed to be stouter-looking than the others. Grunting a little tune, the Conkeldurr attached the bags to their hooks on the ceiling, before ambling off to do something else. Trodaire walked up to the bag, and smacked it.

To the surprise of everyone in the building except Trodaire, there was a metallic _clang _beneath the padded surface. Trodaire grinned.

"That's right, gentlemen. It's been a month since we started working together, and in case you haven't noticed we're not exactly high in stock of regular heavy bags. Now, seeing as how it appears to be your favorite pastime to destroy my heavy bags after a workout," He looked at Excadrill, who sheepishly shrugged. "I figured it was time to give you all a bigger challenge. These are iron pipes encased in standard rubber padding. You want to _really_ start measuring your strength as a fighter? An average Dragonite can render this thing a useless twisted husk of iron in three Mega Punches. Time to start building up your hurtin' bombs, boys!" He noticed the determined grins on Steven's team. They had really come to like that phrase, if nothing else but for the mental image it gave them of punching a Dragon so hard the damned thing exploded. Before Aggron could throw a shot at the thing, however, Trodaire got in front of him and waved his hands wildly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You can't just start swinging at metal with bare knuckles! You'll break your hands, big guy!" He said. Aggron stared at the trainer confusedly, until Trodaire whistled. "Conkeldurr, bring the stuff in!"

There was a grunt of pain, and the Conkeldurr lumbered back into view with what appeared to be a large cardboard box. Yet when it yet the thing down, the loud BANG the box made implied that there was a lot more inside than it appeared. Trodaire reached into the box, and with a sound of effort lifted up what looked like boxing gloves…well, that's what Sabrina assumed that they were. The truth was they were encased in…metal? No. There was no way that Trodaire had actually made-

"Boxing gloves!" Trodaire said proudly. "I made them myself, along with our old friend Paulie. Here, put them on!" He handed a pair that seemed to be fitted for Aggron. The Steel type put the gloves on, only to let out a surprised yelp as his arms dropped to his sides in reaction to the added weight. Trodaire offered a sneaky grin. "I may have forgotten to mention that these things are made from car parts and covered in rubber to prevent sparking…" He said. As Conkeldurr helped the other Pokemon who could use them (Armaldo and Excadrill) put on their gloves. Cradilly, Claydol and Metagross would be getting the day off to work on high repetition workouts with the regular heavy bags. As Paulie led the other three Pokemon off, Trodaire walked in front of Steven's three remaining Pokemon.

"Listen up, you three!" He said. "This might seem crazy, but I am willing to bet that you want to really beat up some dragons, am I right?" They all nodded vigorously. Trodaire smiled. "I thought so. The problem is that a Dragon's hide is really, really tough. We're talking tougher than rolling a Snorlax off of the side of the road tough. If you tried hitting one with one of your best shots…" He pointed to the big **5000** he had drawn on the wall all of those weeks ago. "It probably won't feel it, and will proceed to remind you why I wrote that big number on the wall."

"This is nuts." Misty whispered to Erika. "Is he teaching those Pokemon to hurt their opponent?" She was getting upset. Erika was a little more diplomatic.

"He's just being realistic. Steel-types like taking and dishing out punishment. It's nothing he's doing that's strange." She said sagely.

At that moment, Trodaire put on a pair of boxing gloves himself.

"Follow my lead, boys!" He shouted. He slammed the heavy bag five times with his left hand, five times with his right, and then threw a left as hard as he could. As he finished, he turned around and wiped the sweat from his eyes. "Five with your left, five with your right, and then let it rip with your dominant hand! Go!"

Aggron was the first to go, grunting with great effort as it tried to in no uncertain terms beat the bag into oblivion. Armaldo was next. It was much quieter than Aggron, but no less aggressive. Excadrill was last, and was way louder than either Armaldo or Aggron, but not quite as powerful. Trodaire stopped it from taking another punch, and shook his head.

"Do you want to beat your opponent, or do you think you can get away with just screaming at them?" He asked quietly. Excadrill sheepishly shrugged. Trodaire playfully smacked it on the back. "Focus on hitting the bag, and not on how you'll react when you've knocked a Dragon out." Excadrill sniggered, nodded, and went to the back of the line.

"I'd say he knows what he's doing," Cynthia said, no doubt attempting to assuage Misty's concerns. The red-headed water trainer wasn't too convinced, but she accepted it for now. She'd have to do her own testing, but for now she'd let her friends' explanations be acceptable. On that note, she glanced over to Sabrina, who hadn't said anything since they'd sat down. The Psychic could try being as aloof as possible, or as detached as she could be, but there was no fooling her friend: Sabrina hadn't taken her eyes off of Trodaire. Misty smirked, and filed this information away for later.

After about another hour and a half, Trodaire blew a whistle, and gathered the six Pokemon together. He was sweating just as much as they were, which was saying something. Steven was also a bit worn-looking, as Trodaire had finally convinced him to ditch the classy blazer while in the gym and wear something more suited for exercise. (It didn't help that Paulie had suckered him into taking boxing lessons with his team) As soon as everyone had gathered around him, Trodaire smiled.

"Okay, you guys are looking good today." He said. "You're gonna take the day off tomorrow, rest up your hands and be smart about what you eat. Listen to Steven, he knows how to take care of you. I'll see you bright and early on Wednesday. I'll have something special thrown together for you!" He said with a mischievous grin. Steven's team all whooped and hollered, before Steven calmed them down and returned them to their Pokeballs. As Steven and Cynthia prepared to leave, Trodaire felt a tug on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, Mr…" Erika began, unsure of how to properly address him. Trodaire managed to sound somewhat non-flustered.

"Uh, Phoenix. It's Trodaire Phoenix." He said. Erika smiled.

"Okay, Mr. Phoenix. Would you be available to look at my team tomorrow? There's a contest coming up and though I'm confident in their presentation it's the battling segment that I'm worried about. Do you think you could look into it?" She asked. Trodaire nodded.

"Of course!" He said. "Stop by tomorrow as soon as you can and we'll get started. In the meantime, why don't you go talk to Paulie over there to set things up." He gestured to the older gentleman, who was already getting out the proper forms necessary for Erika. The Grass-Type leader smiled politely, and walked over. As soon as she did, Trodaire turned around only to bump into an indignant Misty.

"I want in." She demanded. Trodaire gulped.

"Well, uh, sure! What's your reason?" He asked her. She narrowed her cerulean eyes.

"I'm signing up for basic training, and before you say _anything _I want to make something abundantly clear. I have a deep and personal connection with my Pokemon. If they tell me you made them cry, _I _will make _you_ cry. Understand?" She asked menacingly, drawing out a mallet from the middle of nowhere to emphasize her point. Both to her surprise and minor disappointment, Trodaire just nodded.

"Understood." He said.

_**SABRINA**_

"I cannot BELIEVE you two!" Sabrina yelled, red-faced and teeth gnashing. "We were _supposed _to humiliate him, _NOT _start up a membership!" Erika looked over at her and shrugged.

"What's all this about a 'we?' You didn't sign up for anything, Rina." She pointed out. Misty nodded, which only made the Psychic madder.

"Gah!" She yelled. "What do you want me to do? Join up too?" She asked. There was a long, awkward pause. Sabrina's eyes narrowed in realization. "You have _got _to be kidding me." She managed to say this in a completely flat and deadpan tone. Erika shrugged.

"It'd probably be easier for us if you did. That way we have a place to go to relax after an exercise." She said. Sabrina had to admit, Erika did have a point. This would also allow her to have another set of eyes to spy on Trodaire. She knew that the kid was planning on taking her gym membership, she just knew it! She rolled her eyes in defeat, and turned to Misty and Erika.

"Wait for me in my office at the gym. And if Alakazam asks you if you'd like to hear one of his old jokes…do yourself a favor and don't. He's got the mind of a supercomputer and all he can think of are painful puns." She said, storming off to The Fight Club.

She was expecting Trodaire to be calling it a night. Maybe even locking up the gym as she approached.

She certainly didn't expect to see and hear a commotion of this magnitude as she entered the door. There was Trodaire, hiding in the rafters of the gym desperately trying to ask what had happened. Paulie and the Conkeldurr were desperately trying to rein in a ball of red hair, rage, and raging tears. Sabrina recognized her as Whitney, the gym leader for Goldenrod City. Why was she here? She must have taken the train. But before Sabrina could ponder what was going on, Whitney was lunging at the poor Trodaire again.

"_IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"_ She shrieked through the tears and anger. "_YOU DID THIS AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!_"

Well, this was unexpected.

A/N: What do you think Whitney is so mad about? Tune in next time to find out?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**SABRINA**_

Sabrina was used to being the center of attention once she entered the room. She had already been denied that opportunity when she and her friends managed to sneak into The Fight Club and Trodaire hadn't even noticed them. Now, seeing this ball of tears and shrieking garnering the attention from everyone in the room for being a sobby baby…well, that was just too much.

"_**QUIET.**_" Sabrina shouted, using her psychic powers to amplify her voice to unnatural levels. All movement in the gym ceased, and even Whitney had stopped her crying. Everyone looked at the frustrated Sabrina, who scoffed. "What is going on in here?" She demanded. Whitney spoke first.

"He hurt my Pokemon! He hurt my Miltank!" She wailed, before breaking down into tears again. This stunned Trodaire, who had managed to recover enough (and deemed it safe to climb down from the rafters) that he was almost within arms reach of Whitney. _Almost. _He didn't want her to suddenly decide to wring his neck.

"What are you talking about?" He asked. "Who are you, and what makes you think I've hurt your Miltank? I've never even seen a Miltank!" He said. It was clear he was trying to tell Whitney the truth, but the red-haired trainer wasn't buying it. Sabrina, however, had been watching Trodaire closely. He wasn't acting any differently than when he was with people he knew. His emotions were heightened, but that could be written off as a product of the current environment. Sabrina couldn't believe that she was saying this, but…

"Whit, I think he's telling the truth." She said. Trodaire looked at her like she had three heads. Paulie even had to look at her funny. Last they'd checked, Sabrina hadn't exactly been the most supportive person to Trodaire's endeavor. After all, this was perfect! A well-respected (if slightly immature) gym leader accusing him of abusive behavior towards her Pokemon…and Sabrina was taking _his _side? What was this world coming to?

"Whuh-what?" Whitney blubbered, just as surprised as the others. Conkeldurr loosened its grip on Whitney, but only slightly, as no one wanted to pick pieces of Trodaire out of the cracks in the wall. "Why, Rina?"

"Let me explain," Sabrina began, clearly recognizing that no one knew what the heck she was doing this for. "Mr. Phoenix, I am not absolving you of guilt in this matter so don't assume that you are off the hook. I want to hear Whitney's side of the story first, and then I expect to hear from you as to why she is claiming what she is claiming." She said. She looked at Whitney. "Once you feel ready, you can begin." Whitney sniffled a little bit,

"Well, he didn't do it himself because he wasn't there." She began. Sabrina noticed a look of some sort of realization crossed Trodaire's face, but decided to let Whitney continue. "But there was this group of guys who were in my gym talking about how one of their buddies had gotten training at this new gym in Saffron which was weird because I thought that you were the only gym leader Sabrina and then the guy in the middle challenged me to a one on one fight and I sent out my Miltank and he sent out a Machop and then that Machop put my Miltank in some goofy looking hold and it grabbed Miltank's arm and…and…" She couldn't finish, too busy trying not to cry. To everyone's surprise, Trodaire placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Whitney, did this kid call his Machop by a specific nickname?" His voice was dark and threatening, and Sabrina knew that he knew who was responsible. Whitney sniffled, but then nodded.

"Y-yeah. He called it…Bracer." She said. But Trodaire hadn't even stayed to hear the end of the name. As soon as Whitney started speaking, Trodaire had abruptly walked to his coat hanger, grabbed his coat, and walked out into the night.

"Paulie! Watch the gym!" He barked. Whitney looked at him with a bewildered expression. Sabrina was even more baffled, before realizing what was going on.

"Mr. Phoenix, STOP!" She yelled, running out the door after him. Paulie, Conkeldurr and Whitney looked after them with confusion.

"What are they going to do?" Whitney asked. Paulie sighed.

"Miss Sabrina? Probably gonna try to stop Troddie." He said. He turned to Conkeldurr. "Get a pot of hot water boiling, Conks. I think Miss Whitney would do well to have a bit of Bettie's special recipe tea." The lumbering Pokemon grunted, nodded, and walked off to do just that. Whitney smiled at the old man's kindness, but then realized something.

"What about your friend? What's he gonna do?" She asked. Paulie sighed.

"I don't know, sweetheart. But it's probably a good thing that Sabrina is going after him." He said.

"Why?" Whitney asked. Paulie's look darkened.

"Troddie's from Orre, sweetheart. They don't take it very well when someone hurts a Pokemon for kicks." He said.

_**TRODAIRE**_

He'd been walking for about two minutes before he'd heard her voice. When he looked around, he realized that he'd walked several blocks before he'd even heard anything. All he'd been feeling was a white-hot rage. But there she was, that persistent gym leader, and she did not look happy.

"Mr. Phoenix!" She yelled, her face a contorted combo of fury and confusion. "I've been yelling for you since you left the gym! That was the middle of an investigation being orchestrated by the gym leader of the city of Saffron City! You can't just walk away from that!" She yelled. To her shock, Trodaire fired right back.

"Spare me your technicalities, Sabrina!" He spat. He looked nothing like the awkward young man around girls or the calm and collected trainer who was teaching a former champion how to beat a current champion. Honestly, he looked…scary. "I don't need to hear you go on about how that was a flagrant violation of the city ordinance, which is just a fancy way of saying I left without giving you the time of day! Which I apologize for, but to be honest I have way more important things to worry about than whether or not I've hurt your feelings."

"I can have you arrested!" Sabrina yelled. "You're actively impeding a judicial inquiry!" She said. Trodaire threw up his arms in frustration. Rain was beginning to fall.

"What does that even _mean_?" He asked. "Stop trying to bury me in legalese! What am I doing that's got you so mad?"

"You're…walking away and not telling me what you're doing!" Sabrina finally sputtered out lamely. "I have a right to know!"

"You don't have a _right_ to know my business, Sabrina. But if you really _want_ to know what I'm doing, then you are welcome to follow me." He didn't say anything else, and started walking the same way he'd been going. Sabrina stood there for a few moments, biting her lower lip in thought. Finally, she decided to take a leap of faith and followed after him.

_**SABRINA**_

Trodaire found them on a basketball court, taking cover from the rain under a tree. Kind of a stupid plan, but then again he hadn't pegged them for their brains or long-term wit. Four guys, all in their teens to maybe early twenties, talking about random crap and laughing it up with their Pokemon. But right in the middle there he was.

"Ritchie." Trodaire's voice wasn't loud, nor was it particularly rough. Just a cold and calm tone, barely able to hide the venom in his voice. "Thought I'd find you here."

Ritchie didn't say anything, instead a look of anger and fear crossed his face. One of his friends, a beefy guy with a buzz cut and cut-off tee shirt, stood up and started walking towards Trodaire.

"Hey, little man. What do you want with my man Ritchie?" He asked. Trodaire didn't even flinch.

"I'm here to talk to him about something. When was the last time you were in Goldenrod, Ritchie?" He asked. Ritchie found his voice.

"A few weeks ago, why?" He asked. Trodaire smirked. The rain was beginning to pour now. Sabrina, who had managed to catch up to the action, had taken cover under a nearby overhang and was watching quietly.

"That so?" Trodaire asked. "Did you take on Whitney?" He asked. Ritchie gulped.

"No, I didn't." He said. It was a bad lie, and everyone knew it. Trodaire frowned.

"That so? Interesting, seeing as she's currently crying her eyes out in my gym over the fact that her Miltank is currently in the Pokemon Center ICU for a severely broken arm and dislocated knee." He said. "And according to Whitney, it was done by a guy with a Machop named Bracer." He stared bullet holes at Ritchie. Sabrina noticed that Ritchie seemed to be fearful (and maybe remorseful?), while his bigger and meaner-looking friends seemed offended that Trodaire was even mentioning this stuff.

Trodaire seemed to notice this too. "You look like you're hanging out with a rough crowd, Ritchie. Did they encourage you to do that to Miltank? Did they tell you that it would be cool, that it would make you and Bracer tough?"

"Buddy, I don't like what you're implying." One of the guys, a reedy guy in a biker vest with a ridiculous Mohawk, growled. "I don't like being questioned about our toughness."

"I'm not **questioning** your toughness, bub. I'm denying its existence." Trodaire said. "You think that going out of your way to hurt Pokemon is cool, that it's tough? You don't know the meaning of the word. And where I come from, we don't take kindly to people who get their kicks from deliberately hurting Pokemon."

"Yeah?" The third guy, the tallest of the group and covered in tattoos, said. "Then maybe you should go back to where you live then, twerp. Cuz the way I see it, it's four of us…" He gestured to himself, the others and Ritchie. "…against one of you." Trodaire shook his head.

"Hardly a fair fight." Trodaire said. The big goon nodded.

"That's right, little man." He grunted. He and his friends were cracking their knuckles menacingly. Trodaire just smiled.

"I meant for you."

Enraged, the big guy rushed him. Trodaire side-stepped past a wild left haymaker and threw his shoulder into the guy's chest, while at the same time threw a calculated right jab into the man's gut. Winded, the goon staggered back, clutching his stomach to regain composure. While he was hence preoccupied, his two friends rushed Trodaire. Again, it was clear who the better fighter was. Trodaire sidestepped the first punch, grabbed the guy's arm, and swung him back so that he ended up hitting his buddy square in the face, sending Mohawk face-first into the concrete. Sabrina winced. She had only now just realized that these guys were fighting on a hard surface and that Trodaire was repeatedly knocking them to the ground at high speeds. That must really _hurt._

And on another note, Sabrina noticed that Trodaire wasn't really doing anything particularly fancy or brutal. He was just redirecting an attack here, countering a punch there, and flipping a foe there. It looked so fluid, and graceful. Sabrina remembered back when she had visited the Fighting Dojo and seen those stuck-up meathead martial artists stubbornly declaring that only their highly choreographed and overdramatic form of fighting was the proper way to do anything. All pomp, and not a lick of substance.

If Sabrina didn't know any better, she'd say that Trodaire was making fighting seem…kinda cool.

Big Guy had stopped wheezing from the gut punch, and had come swinging for Trodaire again. Only this time, he decided to make the genius decision of throwing a what amounted to a drunken right hook instead of what amounted to a drunken left hook. Because strategy, you see. Trodaire responded to this move by grabbing his arm, and then leading Big Guy around in what looked like a mockery of ballroom dancing as he jockeyed for position before suddenly and violently flipping him over his shoulder, causing the guy to slam hard onto the concrete.

All that was left was Ritchie. Clearly, he was the weakest of the group. With a desperate yell, he threw a punch at Trodaire. Trodaire caught the punch with his left hand, and then in the blink of an eye shifted his grip so that he had complete wrist control of Ritchie. He turned the joint ever so slightly, and just like that Ritchie was on a knee, bawling like a baby.

"Owowowow stop stop stop…" Ritchie begged. Trodaire tsked.

"You're feeling it now, aren't you? This is what Miltank probably felt like when you told Bracer to break its arm. Scary, isn't it?" He said. He turned the wrist ever so slightly, and was rewarded by Ritchie howling in anticipated pain. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna actually do it. Because I exercise restraint, see? That's the thing. I don't just go around teaching people techniques that are tough because I want them to deliberately hurt their foe. I teach them so that they can end a fight quickly and with minimal effort. See how easy it was dealing with your 'friends?'" He asked. With his free hand, he gestured to the moaning trio on the ground.

Trodaire cleared his throat. "Here's what's gonna happen." He said. "You're gonna give Whitney a formal apology tomorrow at my gym, and you're gonna forfeit your win to her because it was with an illegal strike. You're gonna ditch these deadbeat 'friends' here like a bad habit, and you're gonna start showing up to The Fight Club consistently. Of course, I'm gonna give you a choice here. Because you can choose not to, in which case I wouldn't be surprised if Miss Whitney files a complaint to the Pokemon League about a trainer abusing Pokemon with malicious intent. You could get your license revoked, and I know people who've had that happen. By the time you can reapply…you're old. So it's either that…or my gym. Tomorrow. 9 AM sharp. See you there."

He wrenched Ritchie's wrist in a direction that did nothing except give the boy a shooting pain to knock him to the ground, and then walked away. He walked past Sabrina without saying a word. The Psychic looked at the four men he left moaning in pain, and then back in his direction. Silently, she walked after him.

_**SABRINA**_

They walked silently for some time. The rain was beginning to let up, and if Sabrina didn't know any better she could have sworn she saw a break in the clouds in the distance. However, by the time it actually reached anything it was going to be after dark anyway. The streetlights cast a pallid yellow glow on the ground below them, and Saffron City looked like it was finally going to sleep. Trodaire hadn't said a word since they'd left the basketball court, so Sabrina decided to break the ice.

"You know that I'm supposed to file a report about what happened." Sabrina said finally.

"Go right ahead." Trodaire said. "I'm responsible for the whole thing, anyway."

"What makes you say that?" Sabrina asked. Trodaire snorted.

"Are you kidding? I taught Ritchie how to use a powerful move that can seriously hurt a Pokemon if it isn't used properly, and what happens? He goes and seriously injures a Gym Leader's star Pokemon because of his newfound knowledge. Doesn't take long to trace the blame back to me. And because I don't have League certification, I don't have a proper legal team for the eventual legal problems we'll be facing." He stopped walking, and looked Sabrina directly in the eye. "You win, Miss Sabrina. You've got your excuse to run me out of town. Just give me a week's notice so that I can give Paulie severance pay."

Sabrina didn't say anything for a long couple of seconds. Then, without her expression changing from the blank one she currently wore, she spoke.

"According to the official League Rulebook, it is to the discretion of the city Gym Leader to decide whether a witnessed (either firsthand or secondhand) incident constitutes negligence or abuse on the part of the accused trainer. From my knowledge of the situation as well as proper evaluation of the related events…I don't see anything to find you or your gym at fault." She said this with an overly disappointed air, as if she really, _really_ wanted to have found Trodaire at fault for something, but the young Orrean knew that she was doing him a favor. Trodaire breathed a sigh of relief, only for Sabrina to hold up her hand. "However, I am not in the business of charity. I expect a few things in return." She said. Trodaire nodded.

"What comes to mind?" He asked. Sabrina cleared her throat.

"First, there is going to be the annual Saffron Expo in front of Silph. Co. in five days. It has been an old tradition that the Fighting Dojo put on a form of entertainment act in between the two major keynote speeches. You will be resurrecting that tradition, and I do not care what it is that you put together as long as it is not offensive. Understood?" She asked. Trodaire nodded. Sabrina continued.

"Second, there is a League-sanctioned clinic that my gym holds for all of the youth trainers in the area that the Fighting Dojo used to be a part of before their disbanding. It is in one month. You will be resurrecting that tradition as well. Again, same principle as the Expo: keep it clean, and remember that you are dealing with children. Understood?" She asked. Again, Trodaire nodded.

"Finally…" Sabrina trailed off, as if this was a rather embarrassing thing to ask. "Each weekend on Sundays me and a few gym leader friends of mine take part in a sort of 'self-defense' seminar." She even threw in the air quotes around "self defense," and it was so out of character that Trodaire had to start cracking up. "After witnessing the way you…_handled_ this event, I think it's safe to assume…no, that's not nearly strong enough…it is a definite truth that you could systematically beat the shit out of our wimpy instructor, who seems more interested in hitting on the female gym leaders anyway than actually teaching proper self-defense. So expect us every Sunday at noon. Understood?" She asked. Trodaire nodded one last time, and then chuckled.

"Here I was thinking that you were going to ask me to do something difficult." He chided. Sabrina smirked.

"Mr. Phoenix, I don't know if you've realized this yet, but in agreeing to these conditions you are essentially allowing me to monitor every little aspect of your gym to spot even the slightest screw-up." She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction at his "oh crap" stare. "That's right, Mr. Phoenix. I will be watching your every move. _Every_ move." She said. With that, she began walking towards the Saffron gym (and the comfort of her bed), leaving behind one flustered young man.

She had turned off the lights to the gym, locked the doors to the main rooms, and was about to call it a night in her apartment. Sabrina was in one of her more comfortable nightgowns, and was quietly walking past her desk when she heard a voice.

"_You've had quite a night, Madam."_ The tell-tale voice of her trusted Alakazam was a welcome sound to hear after such a busy day. Sabrina sighed.

"I suppose so. Though I didn't really _do_ anything." She said. Alakazam opened on its eyes, and Sabrina saw its lips curl to a playful smirk.

"_Of course not, Madam. You were far too busy being enamored with our young acquaintance Mr. Trodaire Phoenix." _It said teasingly. Sabrina rolled her eyes.

"As if. I got everything we wanted out of him, Alakazam: he's going to be putting on shows, and I will be able to watch his every move. It's precisely how we planned." She finished. Alakazam did something that was so rare that it startled Sabrina: it chuckled.

"_Please. When you left this morning you were all about how your choice of attire was sure to make the young man fall all over you. Then you come back home, and all I hear is how this young man is so proficient in his 'kung-fu' that it might rival my mastery of Kitchen Fu._" To prove its point, Alakazam conjured up its two spoons and began twirling them in its fingers. Sabrina snorted.

"You overanalyze everything, old friend." She said.

"_With an IQ of 5000, do you expect any different?_" Came the playful reply. Sabrina just laughed.

"Good night, Alakazam."

"_Good night, Madam Sabrina._"

A/N: I'm back! What'd you think? Let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**STEVEN**_

They had chosen a low-key eatery just outside of Silph. Co., figuring that they would be able to blend into the massive crowd of people both coming and going from the awe-inspiring building. Though to be honest, Steven had to wonder if Cynthia really cared if people noticed her or not. She was still in her trademark dark-colored dress, and her hair was still as long as it ever was, so people were inclined to glance in her direction. Steven had opted for a pair of aviator sunglasses in an (very poor) attempt to hide. Cynthia found this amusing.

"You really think a pair of glasses will keep you anonymous?" She asked him. "You're kind of a recognizable face being the poster boy for Devon Corp, Steven." She said, winking once. Steven sighed.

"I'm just trying not to be obnoxious. Sometimes I wish I were like the head of Silph. Co. Do you even know who's in charge of that place anymore? I never caught his name the last time he met my father." He said. Cynthia shrugged.

"Last I heard it was being managed by a board of directors." She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not going to lie, Steven. You've been acting a little bit…odd ever since we signed up with Trodaire. What's going on?" She asked. Steven gulped. There was no escape from Cynthia when she wanted a question answered.

"It's nothing." He tried. No chance.

"Is it that you think his training methods aren't working?" She asked.

"No, it isn't that. I've never seen my guys slugging as strong as they've been in that gym. I can't remember them ever being as in shape as they are now."

"Is it because you're worried that people will make fun of you for training with a guy who doesn't have official league certification?"

"No. He's the best guy I've ever worked with in getting a team of Pokemon better, and I've worked with a lot of guys."

At this last admission, Cynthia looked genuinely annoyed. "Then what is it?" She asked. "What's gotten into you? Are you embarrassed by all of this?"

The silence she received told her everything she needed to know. Her features softening, Cynthia sighed.

"What about this is embarrassing?" She asked. Steven shrugged.

"I'm supposed to be keeping my team in tip top condition preparing for this tournament and I can't even do it myself. I don't feel like much of a champion, or even a former champion. I mean, how does Lance do it?" He asked. Cynthia raised an eyebrow.

"How does Lance do what?" She asked. Steven shrugged.

"You know, be the best and a Dragon Master the way he is. I mean, it's like he does it by himself! I don't understand it." He replied. To Steven's surprise, Cynthia laughed. "What's so funny?" He asked.

"Nothing, really. Are you saying that you want to be like Lance?" She asked. Steven shrugged. This answer, not the definitive "no" she was hoping for, caused Cynthia to frown. "Well, trust me when I say you don't want to be like Lance. And I am dating you because you are _you _and not Lance. Believe me, you don't want to be Lance." She said again, this time with a funny look in her eyes. Before Steven could say anything to ask about it, he decided that it was better to just leave it…for now. So instead he just smiled.

"Well, thanks for that Cynthia. It makes me feel better." He admitted sheepishly. Cynthia smiled back.

_**TRODAIRE**_

WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

"Hold up!" Trodaire barked. He blew a whistle to get everyone's attention in the gym, and then walked over to Steven's Aggron. The beast had been beating the heavy bag for PSI readings for almost thirty minutes now, and that was enough to get Trodaire worried. "Easy, big guy! I don't want you breaking your hands or my machine! These things aren't cheap!" He said. Aggron just grunted sullenly, and then stomped away to remove its padded boxing gloves. As it walked out of earshot, Trodaire snuck over to Steven.

"Is something bothering him?" He asked the Steel master. Steven was hesitant.

"I'm not sure, maybe." He said. "Why do you ask?"

"Because he's been fanatical about developing his punching power to the point that I'm getting worried about him." Trodaire replied. "Aggron's looked like he's been in a bad mood for the whole week. What gives?" He asked. Steven glanced over to Cynthia, who just shrugged.

"You're the owner of the Pokemon. You tell him." Cynthia said. Trodaire raised an eyebrow. Steven sighed.

"You know that gossipy magazine _Battle Royale_?" Steven asked. Trodaire nodded.

"Yeah, the rambling, oft-hysterical and pointless waste of trees? What about it?" Trodaire asked. Steven cleared his throat.

"Well, as much as you and I agree about the quality of the content, Trodaire, the fact is that that magazine is one of the most popular battle-zines in the entire world. So there's a lot of people that will take it as gospel truth." He said. Trodaire got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had an idea where this was going…

"What did it say?" Trodaire asked. He then realized. "No…they didn't…"

"They did." Cynthia said. "They published their _WORLD TOURNAMENT PREVIEW_ package. The entire magazine was just an analysis of all of the teams. There was Lance, Alder, Wallace, and even Lance's elusive friend." She said with a slight smirk, which quickly faded as she spoke again. "And then there was an in-depth article on Steven Stone."

"What did they write about Steven?" Trodaire asked. Before anyone could say anything, they heard a loud throat-clearing noise. There was Paulie, his reading glasses wedged onto the bridge of his nose, reading aloud from the offending section.

"'The saga of Steven Stone is one of both great intrigue and utter bafflement,'" Paulie began reading. "'On one hand it is intriguing because the former Hoenn Champion scored well enough in his regional tournament to score an invite to the World Tournament, despite being a self-admitted 'lousy battler' these days as he is more inclined to look for rocks or date the beautiful Cynthia of Sinnoh.'" He coughed once, and poor Cynthia blushed a deep crimson. Steven took her hand in his and squeezed it, in a sort of "I don't care what they say" kind of way. Paulie kept going, his voice getting more serious as the article went further. "'However, it is baffling that Steven Stone is to be considered anything more than a mere warm-up for Kanto's Dragon Master and perhaps one of the greatest living trainers today: Lance. This can be attributed to the types of Pokemon that Mr. Stone uses, which are nice and powerful Steel types that couldn't put a dent in the weakest of Dragon hide. Steven's best hope rests in the ability of his Aggron, a serviceable fighter who though may be strong clearly lacks the power to go toe to toe with even some of Lance's weaker Dragons.'" Paulie finally finished, and cleared his throat again. "Look, Stevie, it was written by that hack A. S. Holman. We all know he's got a man-crush on Lance anyway-"

He was interrupted by a roaring noise. Everyone looked in the direction to see that Aggron was taking out its frustrations by stomping the hell out of some long-ruined heavy bags. Steven and Trodaire immediately ran over.

"Hey hey HEY!" Trodaire yelled. "Easy, big guy! It's okay, it's okay!" He said. Meanwhile, Steven was ordering Aggron to stop and clear its head. Aggron listened to its master and its new trainer, before sighing and sinking to the ground, sitting glumly amongst some ruined heavy bags. Trodaire glanced up, and saw that the rest of Steven's team, as well as Ritchie and some other students in the gym, were staring at Aggron in awkward confusion.

"Paulie! Keep things going in here, will ya? Everyone needs to keep working, come on!" He clapped his hands, and everyone else in the gym went back to their business. Trodaire looked over at Steven. "What's bugging him so bad about this article?"

"Aggron's my oldest Pokemon and probably my best friend." Steven explained. "He's easily the hardest worker of all of my team."

"I've got plenty of first-hand experience to confirm that." Trodaire agreed. "So why's this little bitch writer getting him so mad?"

"Aggron's not one to easily admit it, but he's a proud fighter. And, well, I guess that story really bruised his pride." Steven said. "I don't blame him. He's a little undersized for an Aggron, and has dealt with that pretty much his entire time with me. Anytime someone attacks his abilities, he takes it personally."

Trodaire didn't say anything at first, his face expressionless. For a moment, Steven and Cynthia thought that he was stumped. This was a seemingly little thing for Aggron to get upset about, but then again, what did they know? Perhaps this story had cut deeper than they realized. Suddenly, Trodaire perked up.

"Ritchie!" He shouted. "What do you think of Steven's Aggron?" He asked the kid, who was working the heavy bags (what was left of them after Aggron's rampage) with his Machop Bracer. Ritchie shrugged.

"That thing's a tank." He said honestly. Trodaire turned to Paulie.

"What about you, Paulie?" He asked. Paulie chuckled.

"I think it could knock down a building if it wanted to!" He grunted. Trodaire pointed to Cynthia. She shrugged.

"I think that he's awesome. I think that Steven is lucky to have a Pokemon of its strength." She said. Trodaire looked at Steven. Steven smiled.

"He's my oldest friend. I think the world of him." He said proudly. Trodaire looked at Aggron.

"And I think you're a ball of strength and fury that could cut through mountains." He hardened his gaze. "So that's your coach, your coach's assistant, a random trainer, your master's girlfriend, and your master that all think you're hot stuff. On the other hand, you've got this schmuck reporter who's never met you assuming that you're nothing. So tell me, big guy: Who you gonna listen to? Who do you think is right?"

Aggron seemed to ponder these words for a while. Then after a pensive few moments, a devilish grin crossed the corner of its mouth. With a proud grunt, it raised itself off of its knees and strode over to the heavy bag and the PSI counter. Paulie was about to stop it, saying that Aggron had had his fair share hitting the thing, when Trodaire silently waved him off. Aggron stood in front of the machine, breathing deeply for a few moments. Then, with a roar, slammed the bag with its left fist as hard as it could. The numbers on the machine reader soared, before settling. **5011.**

There was a chorus of whooping throughout the gym (Excadrill was the loudest), and Aggron responded by pounding its chest and letting out a mighty roar. It could now hit as hard as a Dragon.

As Steven stared at the reading, dumbstruck that his old friend possessed so much power, Cynthia discreetly wrapped his hand in hers and gave it a small squeeze.

"Y'know, maybe this isn't such a crazy idea after all…" She whispered slyly. As Steven watched the rest of his team take time to clap Aggron on the back for its display, he could only nod in agreement.

They were three months away from the big day, and now it was starting to look like "the little steel team that could" might just in fact have a chance.

_**ERIKA**_

She didn't really know quite what to expect, seeing as how she'd never really taken the time to have an outside pair of eyes study her team as well as her. She'd only brought the three Pokemon she'd be using for the contest: her Vileplume, Bellossom, and Tangrowth. Trodaire had assured her that he would be ready for her that afternoon, but as she walked into the Fight Club of Saffron she assumed that there must have been a mistake: most of the lights were off and it didn't appear that there was anyone there.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" Erika asked, as she let herself in the front door. Thankfully the door was unlocked otherwise she would have assumed that she had been mistaken entirely that Trodaire was willing to work with her team. She smiled. _Trodaire._ Such an exotic name, expecially for someone from Orre. She'd looked it up in her spare time, and thought that the meaning of the name was fitting for a gentleman like him.

Speaking of which, she saw that Trodaire was walking towards her…well, walking was a bit of a misnomer. He was walking yes…but walking on his hands. Erika was impressed. Quite honestly, she was stunned that he was capable of doing this.

_**SABRINA**_

Right next door, a certain psychic was watching through the window and nearly fell out of her chair.

"Since when has he been able to do that?!" She shouted in utter disbelief.

"_Lady Sabrina, are we spying on Master Trodaire's establishment again?_"

"No!...I mean, not spying per say but really just discreetly watchi-…you know what? Zip it, Alakazam!"

"_As you wish, My Lady."_

_**ERIKA**_

"Oh my…" Erika smiled. "Is there anything you can't do?" She said teasingly. Trodaire righted himself back onto his feet, and shrugged.

"Get a lot of gym members, remember to shave consistently…you know. The little things." He shrugged. "I can do a lot of martial arts and similar physical feats. But that's because I've been doing them pretty much all of my life. Don't expect me to solve a nuclear physics problem or something like that."

"I didn't have that in mind." Erika giggled. "Now, what did you think you had in mind for the contest?" Trodaire grinned.

"Well, I had an idea, but first I need to see the trio you were planning to use. Can you send them out?" He asked. Erika complied, and when Trodaire saw the three Grass types his smile widened. "Perfect! Next question, can any of you three do Petal Dance?"

Bellossom and Vileplume gave an affirmative. Trodaire nodded.

"Excellent. Big guy, come over here." He beckoned to Tangrowth, who ambled next to Trodaire. "Do you know Vine Whip?" When Tangrowth nodded, Trodaire looked like a kid whose Christmas presents had come a day early. "Awesome!" He turned to Erika. "Can Bellossom and Vileplume control their Petal Dances? As in, can they direct them? Can they hold them suspended in the air, etc?"

"I believe so." Erika said. "What do you want them to do that for?"

Trodaire outlined his plan for the next few minutes in great detail for the three Pokemon and their trainer. Erika's eyes widened.

"Oh, that's excellent! That'll display my Pokemon's mastery of their moves perfectly!" She said excitedly. Trodaire nodded, and clapped Tangrowth on the back in support.

"That just means you're going to have to sharpen your Agility, huh?" He said. Tangrowth gave an unsure noise of agreement, to which Trodaire laughed. "Don't worry big guy, you're with me for the next month. We'll get it down." He turned to Erika. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"What is it?" Erika asked. Trodaire shrugged.

"I have to give a demo at the Silph. Co. Expo in four days, and while I know _what_ I'm going to do, I don't know _how _to perform it. Do you think you could help me out?" He asked. Erika nodded, her face etched with thought.

"I think so. You want me to help choreograph a performance, then?" She asked for clarification. Trodaire nodded. "I'm guessing it involves your knowledge of martial arts?" She asked again. Again, Trodaire nodded. "Okay, what style were you planning on using? If I recognize it, I can absolutely help you come up with ideas." Trodaire heard this, and cleared his throat.

"Have you ever heard of _Zui Quan_?"

The look of excitement and glee on Erika's face gave him his answer.

A/N: If you look up "Zui Quan" or know Chinese…you'll spoil the surprise…but Read and Review regardless! See you next time!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**SABRINA**_

The buildup to the Silph. Co. Expo was exactly as she had expected it to be: boring and uninteresting. They were a bunch of old men in suits trading ideas and selling things that technically didn't exist yet, and yet people ate it all up. Sabrina scowled. She hated business tycoons. If she could have it her way then that stupid Silph. Co. would directly answer to her as well as the city council. But alas, the business world didn't work that way. She had tried, long ago, to bully them into letting her dictate the pace of things in Saffron, before they calmly and clearly explained to her that her attitude was making them think that Saffron City wasn't an inviting place for business, and if they were to leave there would literally be thousands of people out of a job and who would they blame? Sabrina wisely conceded this point that day, though her hope to get back at these crusty old men burned within her for a long time.

"Good afternoon, Madame Sabrina!" One of the elder board members said a little too pleasantly. "I hope you are ready for the Fighting Dojo's display this fine day."

"First off, it's called the Fight Club now." Sabrina replied curtly. "Second, I have made my opinion of this event clear in the past and under no circumstances is that going to change."

The businessman wisely chose to stay silent. But it was true. If there was one thing that Sabrina hated more than having to hold this annual reminder of the time she didn't get her way, it had to be that Trodaire had caused her to resurrect a silly tradition of entertainment for everyone visiting the Silph. Co. building. Closing her eyes, Sabrina could remember the blowhards in their gis shouting like wild animals while doing rudimentary martial arts such as breaking a board here or there or doing some fancy dance moves that Sabrina thought were more suited for poor attempts at wooing women, not fighting off attackers. She hated it and relished the fact that she had been able to disband it after wiping the floor with the Karate Master and his minions. Single-handedly.

That was what frustrated her the most though, she realized as she sat down in her chair to watch as Trodaire would take the stage. She had no idea what to expect from him. He wasn't one of those goofy "fighters". He was a legitimate fighter who had the potential to cause human beings serious harm, as witnessed by the way he'd effortlessly stomped Ritchie's deadbeat "friends" at the basketball courts a few days ago. That…concerned her. She didn't want to see what he was capable of when he was really angry. It made her wonder what exactly he had been doing, and what kind of life he was living in Orre before he'd wandered into Saffron.

She was interrupted from her musings when the crowd began to cheer. She looked up and saw that…_Erika?_ There was her friend, dressed in an elaborate kimono, walking to the center of the mat that had been set up for the display. She was carrying a small stool in one hand, and a bottle in the other. She set the stool in the middle of the mat, and then placed the bottle on the top of the stool. From her vantage point, Sabrina could see that there was a label on it…_Brand X?_ What was a bottle of alcohol doing in this display?

She calmed herself when she realized that Erika had made eye contact with her and had given a wink of reassurance, but that still didn't change the fact that Sabrina was livid with Trodaire for…whatever it was that he was about to do. And speaking of the devil, there he was. He was walking onto the mat, hands tucked into his hoodie, wearing a pair of black sweatpants to go with it. It was a shabby outfit, nowhere near the refined gi that a martial artist under the Karate Master would wear. There was a murmur amongst the crowd, clearly wondering who this guy was and what the heck was going to happen.

Trodaire walked up to the stool. He looked around, as if seeing if anyone was looking, before grabbing the bottle. He uncorked it, took a whiff as if to confirm that it was in fact alcohol, and then tipped back and began to drink. He continued to lean back…and back…and back…and back…and before anyone realized it, he had bent his body to a right angle, his stomach parallel to the ground. The crowd let out a startled yelp of excitement, and then Trodaire violently lurched forward, spitting out the drink in a ludicrously over-the-top fashion. He shook his head, making a _pbpbpbpbpbpb_ noise with his lips, and then began to walk away…Or at least, he was trying to walk away. He was now walking in a manner similar to that of a man who was stupefyingly drunk. And yet, there was something graceful to the way he moved. Then suddenly, a straight front flip from a standing position, only to land right back on his feet. And more similar feats of acrobatics. Sabrina was stunned. She'd never seen a form of martial arts like this before, and judging by the wild cheering of the crowd, neither had anyone else in Saffron.

Then suddenly, there was the sound of a gong being struck. Sabrina glanced in the direction of the noise to see that Erika had struck it, with a cheeky grin on her powdered face. As if out of the blue, several men in elaborate gis broke out from the crowd and rushed the stage, surrounding the stumbling Trodaire. He looked confused, with a bleary sort of expression on his face, but then smiled. That was when Sabrina knew that the real show was about to begin.

Enraged (or pretending to be for the sake of the show), one of the men rushed him. Trodaire fell backwards, landing hard on the ground. The attacker didn't know what to do, and decided to stomp on the ground directly onto Trodaire's head. Big mistake. The fallen man rolled out of the way and sprang up like a spring was loaded onto his back, facing the attacker's exposed backside. With a flurry of strange-looking strikes, Trodaire sent the man flying face first into the mat.

Another man came running, intent on destroying the man who had harmed his friend. Trodaire backpedalled away from his foe, and then it appeared that he had tripped and fallen on his back. He landed on the ground hard, but when his attacker came too close _WHAM._ Trodaire planted a firm double-legged kick squarely in his foe's chest. The karateka was lifted off of the ground, and slammed hard onto the mat. Sabrina winced. Thank goodness they had that thing padded.

Two more attackers rushed Trodaire, intent on ganging up on him. As they threw punches, Trodaire spun his arms backwards like windmills, both parrying the blows while looking remarkably smooth doing it. The crowd was mesmerized, with even the crotchety businessmen who had only come for the monetary dealings staring with awe. Suddenly, Trodaire caught one of the attacker's arms. He ducked under it so that he ended up directly in front of the man (whilst still holding onto his arm), and by throwing his back backwards he knocked the man off of his feet. The third man attempted to rush Trodaire, throwing a wild haymaker. Trodaire appeared to stagger backwards out of the way, but in reality the showy dodge was a feint to hide his getting off to the side of the attacker (where the unprotected back side of his attacker's knees were), and with a sweep of his right leg he had kicked out the foe's feet and _boom!_ Another poor soul was lying down on the ground. And so it went.

There was something magical about watching Trodaire go to work on these karatekas. It was fluid, it was smooth, it was…_goofy._ There was something familiar about it, the way Trodaire could pirouette and twist away from his foes to gain an advantageous position, followed by a flurry of brutal punches and kicks. Then it hit Sabrina. She had seen this before. This was just a more theatrical, unrestrained version of the beat down he had administered to Ritchie's friends. And yet she _still _figured that he was holding back somewhat.

Finally, after a few more minutes of almost comical fighting, Trodaire had planted the last guy onto the ground. There was a whistle, and he turned to see Erika fling him a bottle similarly marked. Trodaire caught it, sat down on the stool, and began to drink in earnest. It was then that Sabrina could see that he was sweating profusely. Another gong sounded, and the karatekas simultaneously got up and gave the crowd a bow.

The place went bonkers.

Sabrina didn't realize it, amongst the screaming cheers of the fans, but she was one of the loudest cheerers in the entire thing. At least she didn't realize it until she felt a slight tapping on her shoulder. She looked to see that same old businessman, eying her with a cagy grin. She immediately went back to a stoic position.

"What?" She asked, utilizing all of her meditative skills to keep a straight and bored expression. "It was good entertainment."

The businessman winked, and walked away. So he had caught the normally stoic Sabrina cheering like a little girl at a martial arts event, of all places.

For once in her life, Sabrina didn't give a damn. It was awesome to watch.

_**TRODAIRE**_

He'd somehow managed to stagger back to the Fight Club after much time resting and recovering in a small tent hidden at the far edges of the Expo's fairgrounds. It didn't matter how easy people thought that stuff looked, Drunken Boxing was _HARD._

He hoped it was worth it.

_**PAULIE**_

"RISE AND SHINE, TRODDIE!" Paulie screeched as he burst through the door of the Fight Club. "I hope you had fun yesterday at the Silph. Co. Expo, but it's back to work today!"

"Go away Paulie…" came the pained reply. Paulie looked to see that Trodaire had fashioned a hammock in the rafters of the building, and judging by the way his arm dangled off of the side it was clear Trodaire was in a lot of pain. Paulie wasn't having it.

"Sweet staggering Staraptor, kid, you shoulda known bettah!" He shouted. "I told yas that that Zoo-ey Cuh-wan was gonna take a lot out of yah, but yehs didn't lissen ta ol' Paulie, did yas?"

"I'm not listening now, either…" Trodaire groaned. Paulie rolled his eyes.

"Well yeh'd better lissen now, lazy-bones! Dere's a story in dah paper you might find interestin': seems that ol' Lancey is feelin' mighty confident! He announced who he's using in three months!"

At this, Trodaire stumbled and promptly fell out of the hammock. Paulie winced as the young man landed hard on the mat below, and was thankful that A.) the hammock wasn't too high up and B.) that the boxing ring had a bit of bounciness. Trodaire groaned slightly, but then walked over to the edge of the boxing ring and leaned against the ropes.

"Isn't it kind of early for him to make such an announcement?" Trodaire asked. "And is Lance really that arrogant?" Paulie wrinkled his nose.

"Well, technically it ain't him doin' the talkin'. It's that cousin a' his, Clair, right? Anyways, she says that he's startin' his best three, and good night ta dah competition!" Paulie reached into his pocket, and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Yeh might need ta read it in da office: the light's bettah in dere."

Trodaire took the piece of paper, and walked through the door of the office and turned on the light. Paulie decided not to follow after him, and in hindsight this was a remarkably smart idea. The reason for this was not a second after he had entered the room did the metal wastebasket come flying out the door, striking the wall with a loud clang. Despite himself, Paulie couldn't resist.

"I'm guessin' you's not too happy with his decisions?" He asked snidely. Trodaire came back out, his face a good shade of crimson.

"Not at all! These are exactly the Pokemon I was hoping he was going to select!" He said. Paulie was confused.

"Wait a second. I thought you was upset about somethin'?" He asked. Trodaire nodded.

"It just means that Lance is feeding into that bullshit that Steven doesn't stand a prayer against the Dragon Master. I am _SICK_ and _TIRED _of hearing about what a great damned Pokemon trainer Lance is. So is Steven! And come the World Tournament, we're gonna prove it!" Trodaire said. Paulie nodded.

"Good plan, Troddie." He said. He then had a bemused smirk on his face. "But I think yeh might wanna chill a bit, 'specially considerin' what yeh've got ta deal wit' today." He said. Trodaire had a blank expression on his face.

"What do I have to deal with today?" He asked. Paulie sniggered.

"Check your schedule, Troddie." He said. Trodaire had a confused expression on his face, but silently complied. Paulie did not follow, instead standing safely out of range and silently waiting for the sounds he was hoping to hear: first came the sound of Trodaire opening the cabinet next to the desk to find the calendar. Then came the soft noise of paper being flipped between an index finger and thumb. A pause. And then…

"_**AAAAUUUUUGGGHHHHH!**_"

_**SABRINA**_

"Now why exactly did you drag us into this, Sabrina?" Misty asked as the quartet of girls made their way to the Fight Club. "Wasn't half of the fun of self defense making fun of that creepy perv we had for an instructor?"

"Yeah, I mean why change now?" Whitney asked. "I was looking forward to doing nothing today. This guy that you found as a replacement seems like he means business!"

"Well, you did try to murder him for assuming that he was responsible for breaking your Miltank's arm." Misty said curtly. "How is she doing, by the way?"

"Buttercup? She's gonna be ready to do light exercises next week. I'm taking things slow with her so that she doesn't reinjure the joint. Nurse Joy recommended a cautious regimen." Whitney said. Their fourth partner, the gym leader from Fuchsia City, rolled her eyes.

"I still don't see why my uncle insisted that I do this sort of thing. I am a trained master of ninjutsu, which makes this entire foray completely pointless for me." Janine said acidly. Now it was time for Sabrina to give her two cents.

"Look, I don't like the fact that we have to do this sort of thing either, but Lance doesn't want anything happening to the gym leaders of Johto or Kanto, and at the very least it's a good workout." Sabrina said. She shrugged. "Besides, Trodaire knows what he's doing."

At this, there was a pause. Sabrina noticed that Misty was staring at her. With a look of both awe and smugness on her face. Sabrina cleared her throat to get Misty to stop staring.

"What's so funny?" She asked. Misty smirked.

"I think this is the first time that you've ever said his name, Sabrina." Misty said. "Every other time you've referred to him as 'that stupid kid from the Fight Club' or something equally derogatory. Got something to confess to us, sweetie?"

Sabrina responded by turning a deep flush of red, but didn't say anything as they opened the door to the Fight Club.

There was Paulie, sitting in a chair with a newspaper nearby the door. He saw the group of girls and smiled.

"Hiya, Miss Sabrina! Troddie's in the back preppin' for this 'self-defense' thingamagummy yeh've got him doin'. Hope yeh's have fun!" He said cheerily. Sabrina shrugged, and then led the other girls around the corner of the gym.

There was Trodaire, working that wooden dummy again like the last time Sabrina had seen him. Now, it appeared that he was hitting it much more violently than previously, as if he was bothered by something. When he turned around and saw the quartet of girls in front of him, Sabrina read his face and came to a startling conclusion: he had completely forgotten about this and was just now throwing something together at the last minute. She smirked a little bit. This was going to be fun.

"Hi there. You here for your 'self-defense' class?" Trodaire asked. The girls nodded, clearly letting him do the talking (to see if he'd slip up and say something stupid). He was aware of this too, however. "Awesome. Let's get to basics. Any of you have martial arts experience?"

At this, there was a scoffing noise, and Janine strode to the front of the group.

"Experience? I'll have you know that I am the niece of the great Ninja Koga, member of the Elite Four! I am Janine, and I am a Ninja!" She said proudly. At this, Trodaire made an exaggerated gasp.

"Koga?!" He said dramatically. "You're related to Koga?" He asked incredulously. Then suddenly, his expression flattened. "Never heard of him." He said.

There was an awkward pause.

"You've never heard of Koga?" Misty asked. "How can you never have heard of Koga?" Trodaire shrugged.

"I'm from Orre. Word doesn't get out that far about 'ninja masters.'" He said, using air quotes with his fingers to emphasize "ninja masters." At this, an infuriated Janine broke into a fighting stance.

"Then let me educate you, Orre street rat." She hissed.

When Janine called him that, Sabrina caught something in Trodaire's eyes. It was only there for a split second, but it was obvious to see (for someone with a trained eye like Sabrina's): rage. Janine had touched a nerve, and she didn't realize it.

"Janine, that wasn't very nic-" Whitney began to say, before Trodaire cut her off.

"No, she's right. I am just an Orre street rat. I'm a little punk from the dusty desert bowl of the world, where we all live in mud huts and steal from markets to get by. That's what you've heard of my home, right? Well, you know what I know about ninjas?" He asked, but Janine had already moved. She began to flip towards him in a series of cartwheels, intent on delivering a powerful ninja kick. Right before she approached him, Sabrina saw Trodaire smile. So she winced.

Trodaire lunged forward, catching Janine in mid-leap. The startled ninja master let out a yelp as Trodaire choke-slammed her to the ground, still holding onto her raised leg when she landed while resting his boot directly on her cheek.

"…It only takes one good hit to knock you the hell out." Trodaire said. He turned to the other girls. "I'm no champion, but I'm in the middle of training a former champ to take on a current champ. Fortunately for him, he's got an off day today. _Un_fortunately for you, that means that you have my undivided attention for this self-defense seminar. Welcome to Hell in the Cell with your friendly neighborhood coach, Trodaire Phoenix."

Sabrina's eyes caught his, and saw the mischievously evil glint in his eyes. She sighed.

_This is gonna suck._

A/N: Hi guys! So not much plot advancement in this chapter, moreso just tying up a few loose ends mentioned in earlier segments. Hope you enjoyed the fight scenes as much as I enjoyed writing them. Speaking of fighting, I've been asked how Trodaire fights. I can answer that in two words: Jackie. Chan. Go on Youtube and watch some of Jackie Chan's best fight scenes, _especially _the Drunken Master films. So what I'm basically saying is that Trodaire is Jackie Chan. Why did I choose a slightly obscure form of martial arts? Because I think it fits Trodaire's whole "stranger in a strange land" motif that features him utilizing things that aren't very common in the rest of the world, and it further gives Orre a level of mystique (it's a criminally underdeveloped region, in my opinion). So of course he's gonna be a Drunken Boxer like Jackie Chan.

Okay, enough ranting on my part. I hope you enjoyed this latest edition and the next chapter will get back to the training of Steven Stone and his Steel types! R&R, please.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**TRODAIRE**_

"I gotta ask yeh, Troddie, was that session really necessary?" Paulie asked, as his younger partner unlocked the Fight Club for the following day's practice with Steven. Trodaire shrugged.

"Maybe not. But I needed an outlet to vent, and I needed to show Sabrina's little friend Janine that you can't just insult my home area without paying for it." He said. Paulie raised an eyebrow.

"Don't yehs think dat dey're gonna find ya and hurt ya really badly?" He asked. Trodaire winked.

"Don't worry, Paulie. To hunt me down would require physical movement. I'm not so certain that they are capable of that this morning." He said cheekily.

_**SABRINA**_

Strangely, any trainer that wanted to challenge the Saffron Gym that morning came to find that on the front door was a computer-printed note. **GYM CLOSED FOR THE DAY DUE TO ILLNESS**

Alakazam certainly wished that that were the case, instead of the pathetic reality.

"_For the last time, My Lady, you are neither ill nor at death's door. You are just simply that sore." _He said, telekinetically carrying a tray of food for his bedridden master. Groaning from beneath the covers, he heard a muffled roar.

"I'm gonna** KILL **him!" Sabrina managed to gasp through the sheets. And then clutched at her ribs, moaning in pain.

_**TRODAIRE**_

"Okay guys, bring it in." Trodaire said. Steven, Cynthia, and the rest of Steven's team gathered around the side of the boxing ring where Trodaire leaned against the ropes. The Orrean cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure you guys might have read the news: Lance is already announcing what Pokemon he is using in the fight in about two and a half months." At this, Cynthia raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you so certain that he's not deliberately messing with us just to psych Steven out?" She asked. Trodaire raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Cynthia, has Lance _ever_ been that deceptive?" He asked. To the surprise of everyone, Cynthia's answer was immediate: almost robotic.

"No. What you see is what you get. I would know." She said. No one except Steven caught the implication of that last bit, and he sighed slightly. Trodaire nodded.

"Exactly. Which is why today is an important day: Steven, you're going to have to pick three Pokemon to focus on, as it is a three on three tournament. Three Pokemon are gonna be able to fight, but the other three are here just for support and the extra exercise. They're not in it to fight." He glanced at Steven's team. "I'm not gonna be making that call, because no outside force can know his own team's strengths and weaknesses better than the master himself. Not even me. Right, guys?" He asked. The Pokemon all nodded in agreement. Trodaire looked to Steven. "I'm gonna read the three Pokemon that Lance is choosing, and then I'm gonna let you decide who you're gonna match them with. Make sense?"

Steven nodded. Though to outside viewers, this appeared a rather mundane decision, amongst this small group there was a palpable air of tension. Trodaire cleared his throat and began to read from a small sheet of paper he'd scribbled on.

"Lance will be using…" he began. "His Haxorus…His Salamence…and Dragonite." He said. There was an audible pause, as Trodaire let those names sink in. "We all knew that he was gonna use Dragonite. That Pokemon is synonymous with him. Haxorus is a bit of surprise, but Salamence…that'll be interesting to go against." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Steven, what are you gonna do? Who do you want in your corner?"

Steven was silent for a moment, deep in thought. He then spoke, calmly and assuredly.

"I want to match each of those Pokemon with my best. For his Haxorus, I want to use Armaldo. For Salamence…I want Excadrill. And for Dragonite, I might as well use _my _trusted friend Aggron." He said. Trodaire blinked once in surprise.

"That's an…interesting combination." He said. "But I can work with that. You do realize that not a single one of your Pokemon holds the type advantage in their matchups, right?" He said. Steven nodded.

"I know. And I don't care. Wasn't the whole point of this deal more or less pioneering a new type of fighting?" He asked. Trodaire threw up his hands defensively.

"I never said a completely new type of fighting, per say…" He began, before Steven confidently cut him off.

"But you've implied it. Make no mistake, Trodaire, what we're working on here has the potential to be revolutionary. You're proposing winning a matchup not based on type selection, but on good-old-fashioned street brawlin' rough-n-tumble fighting. That is completely unheard of in Pokemon battling circles. And we're doing it against perhaps the figurehead of traditional Pokemon battling as well. Don't cheat yourself. If we win, we've possibly changed the game." He smiled. "We might be inspiring a whole new crop of trainers and their Pokemon to rely on guile and ability to fight instead of whether they're genetically advantageous against a foe. That's incredible." Then he looked serious. "All this time you've been challenging me on whether or not I thought I was capable of doing this. Well, I think it's possible. And I have no illusions about what we're trying to do here. But what about you? Do you think that we can do it?"

Everyone looked at the Fight Club owner's expression. For a moment, it was blank. Expressionless. Then, a small smirk cracked the corner of his lips, before growing into an outright grin.

"Damn…_straight_ I think we can." He said. He clapped his hands together. "Alright, folks. Let's get to work. Conditioning season is over, ladies and gentlemen. Now we start _gameplanning!_"

This pronouncement was met with much cries of excitement. Even Cynthia and Steven got into it.

_**SABRINA**_

She'd managed to get out of her bed later that afternoon, wincing as every muscle in her body screamed with pain. She staggered over to the door, opening it slightly and sneaking through to her desk in the office room. Alakazam was meditating in the corner, as per usual. It opened one of its eyes, and Sabrina swore she saw its lips curl into a smirk.

"_Are we feeling better this afternoon, My Lady?"_ It asked. Sabrina shook her head. Alakazam shrugged. "_A shame. Though if I may be so bold: I know that the fact you just short of literally had the stuffing kicked out of you by Janine, Misty, Whitney, and perhaps even Master Trodaire yesterday…sleeping until three in the afternoon is pushing it __**just**__ a bit._" It opened its other eye, and then winked. Grumbling, Sabrina sat down at the desk and opened up her PC.

"How was I supposed to know that I have the physical coordination of a drunken Gardevoir in high heels?" She asked. Alakazam tsked.

"_I do not think that you should disparage the concept of martial arts for the sake of physical fitness, My Lady. A powerful psychic can grow even greater in power if he or she is in peak physical condition as well as mental._" Sabrina snorted.

"Says the guy who only moves by floating around everywhere." She snapped back. Alakazam winked again.

"_How do you know, My Lady, that I am not simply the most perfectly attuned physical specimen in existence, and that I float around not because it is easier than walking but because I simply __**choose**__ to do it?_" It asked slyly. Sabrina just responded by blowing a raspberry.

She then turned her focus to her computer, and opened her email. There at the top of the inbox was an unread message. It was a reminder from Lorelei, one of Kanto's Elite Four and…coordinator of the League Ball next week. _Shit._

**Dear friends,**

** It is that time of year again! We are only one week away from the annual Indigo Plateau Ballroom Gala, and this year promises to be a spectacular showing. Our champion of the Kanto Chapter of the Pokemon League, Lance, will be there to give a few remarks about the upcoming World Tournament that he has qualified for, and I am sure we will all be giving him a wonderful round of encouragement to advance to the championship! (Not that he'll need it.) **

** A friendly reminder that this event is a couples-only affair, and we do want to have every Kanto gym leader there if possible. So don't be shy in asking a friend or perhaps a loved one or even just someone off of the street! (Memo to Brock: Do not take this advice literally, nor attempt asking Nurse Joy or Officer Jenny again. They have said no the past two times; I highly doubt that the third time will be the charm)**

** That about covers it! Be sure to be at the Indigo Plateau by 8 P.M., and be sure to dress classy! Kanto should live up to its well-deserved reputation as "The Gold Standard of the Pokemon League!" See you all there!**

**-Lorelei**

Sabrina stared at the computer screen and the email for a very long time. Then, she took a deep breath and…

"**Fuuuuuuuuuuu-"**

_**TRODAIRE**_

As Trodaire prepared to get Armaldo in the ring, he could have sworn he heard a cry of pain and anger and rage coming from the direction of the Saffron Gym. But then he shrugged and attributed it to the poor circulation of the air conditioning in this old place. He really needed to get the regulator fixed…

_**SABRINA**_

__**"uuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"** Sabrina slammed her head against the desk. Next to her, Alakazam opened one eye again.

"_Is something troubling you, My Lady?_" It asked without a trace of sarcasm. Sabrina sighed.

"Yes, you genius." Sabrina said. "The league ball is coming up in a week and I haven't got a freaking date!" She threw up her arms in exasperation, and then winced at how badly they hurt.

"_Aren't you going with that masked fellow from the Johto branch of the league?"_ Alakazam asked innocently. Sabrina made a face.

"Will? Ew, no. He's weird. And creepy. Even for a psychic." She said. Alakazam shrugged.

"_I must admit that is rather creepy. Did you have any back-ups in mind?_" It asked. Sabrina sighed, sinking back into her chair and shaking her head.

"No, I didn't. And that bothers me, Alakazam. I don't want to go solo to this event and have everyone judge me as a weirdo psychic who can't get a date. I mean, I know that everyone already kind of thinks that of me because I've read more than a few of their minds, but I don't want to confirm that damn it!" She buried her head in her hands, and sighed again. Alakazam tapped its chin in thought. Then an idea came to it.

"Have you ever considered him?" It asked innocently. Sabrina looked over at Alakazam in a confused manner.

"Him? Who are you-"

And then she realized who Alakazam was talking about.

"Oh, _Arceus _no. No, no, no, no, no, NO. No a million times over no. No so much that it could balance a federal budget. Not a chance, not a hope, not a _prayer _no. Hell no, _Arceus _no…No!" She threw her head back in her hands, and for a long time there was silence. Then, Alakazam spoke again.

"_So when will you ask him?_" It asked patiently. Sabrina's answer was immediate.

"As soon as he closes up shop tonight." She admitted weakly.

_**TRODAIRE**_

"Listen up, guys!" Trodaire barked. "Lance's Haxorus is likely to be his first Pokemon he sends out. It's the least experienced of the trio, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous. In fact, a Haxorus can be incredibly dangerous if you are not careful in how you deal with it. Don't let the lack of wings throw you for a loop!" He said. He was standing in the middle of the boxing ring, with several heavy bags resting next to him. In the corner of the ring was Armaldo and Steven, while the others watched from the side. "But that works to our advantage, doesn't it big boy?" He pointed to Armaldo. "I've watched you practicing these past few weeks, and while you might not be able to hit as hard as big guy over there-" he gestured to Aggron. "-It is clear that you have no equal in this gym to your submission powers. And besides, what better way is there to start off the match stunning the crowd and Lance by wrestling a Dragon into submission?" He asked. The usually stoic Armaldo seemed positively gleeful at this prospect. Trodaire tapped the heavy bags. "That's where these babies come in. They're heavy enough so that you can get used to the idea of picking up a Dragon, but don't fool yourself: an average Haxorus weighs around 230 pounds. These heavy bags weigh about 100. Which is why today is focusing on repetition, not on strength lifting."

He pointed to Armaldo. "Now each of these moves forms a variant of the Seismic Toss, so that you won't feel too strange doing them. I'll demonstrate on this lighter bag here." He ran over to the corner and grabbed a bag weighing about 50 pounds. "We're gonna focus on power bombs and suplexes. NO PILEDRIVERS. I am aiming for you to knock this guy down for the count, not paralyze it for life. Make sense?" He asked. Armaldo nodded. Trodaire grabbed a whistle. "Then let's see some suplexes!"

Armaldo stomped over to the first bag, until it was facing the thing completely. Then, squatting down by bending its knees, Armaldo wrapped its arms around the bag lifted up. Shifting the bag in its arms slightly, Armaldo took a deep breath and threw itself over backwards.

**WHAM.**

It was a perfect execution. The bag landed on the ground first, with Armaldo landing on top of it. And the rest of the gym lost its collective shit.

"ATTABABY ARMALDO!" Steven shouted. Cynthia let out a squeal of her own, but neither of their reactions matched the near-psychotic response the rest of Steven's team had to this incredible display of athleticism. And amongst it all, Trodaire just quietly smiled. And in the back of his mind, he found himself thinking something that he hadn't dared to believe just a few weeks ago.

_We can pull this off._

And so it went. Armaldo took some time properly learning the technique from Trodaire, and then began to apply it with brutal efficiency to the heavy bags. Eith each toss, an audible _OHH_ (or the Pokemon equivalent) erupted from the quintet of Steven's Pokemon that had gathered to watch. Even Cynthia was getting in on the excitement, letting out yelps of shock that were mighty uncharacteristic of a usually stoic woman. When Trodaire confronted her, she admitted that it was like watching a rollercoaster of destruction: first Armaldo went up, carrying the anticipation with it, and then _WHAM _it brought the bag down like a hammer! Steven had a goofy grin on his face, clearly feeling lucky about being with the girl that he was with.

Finally, at the end of the day, Trodaire blew another whistle. He gathered the team together, and began to give his day-end speech.

"That was a fantastic day, guys. Armaldo, that was an incredible display. You keep practicing, and I promise you will be able to knock that Haxorus right the hell out!" He said. "As for the rest of you, Paulie will keep you in shape with the heavy bags and speed bags and other core-building exercises. You might not be part of the top three, but you are a part of this team and you _will _be in the best shape of your life when we are all said and done." He pointed to Excadrill. "Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow is your time to shine, alright?" He said. Excadrill responded by clapping its hands together in glee. Trodaire smiled. "Alright, good night everyone. See you tomorrow."

After Steven recalled his team to their Pokeballs and left with Cynthia, Trodaire and Paulie went through the process of closing down the gym. First shutting down the power, and then the lights, and then they walked out the front door to lock everything up for the night. Paulie had insisted that Trodaire come spend the night at his and Bettie's house, and when Trodaire tried to protest Paulie had this to say.

"Darn it, Troddie, I ain't lettin' yehs sleep on a cot in da middle of a dinky liddle office yeh can't fit in! We've got a guest bed for yehs, and if we don't I'll build one for yehs! Bettie wants to have a chance tah actually meet yah, and yeh's can't say no to this one!" He said.

So that was that.

Well, as soon as Trodaire finished locking the front door, he pocketed the key and turned around…

…only to come face to face with Sabrina.

"Miss Sabrina!" Paulie said in surprise. "Whaddaya doin' here?" He asked. Sabrina offered a small smile.

"I was here to speak to Mr. Phoenix. Do you have a moment?" She asked him. Trodaire nodded dumbly.

"I, uh, sure." He said. Sabrina took a deep breath.

"First, your performance at the Expo. Let me make this clear that I do not give out compliments frequently, so understand that I mean it when I say that you were the hit of the day and I was impressed with the display. You are expected to return next year with something along those lines." She said. Paulie felt this was all rather professional of her, but knew she was getting to something important. "Secondly, I appreciate your enthusiasm for our self-defense seminar, but since you've made all of us bedridden for most of the day with bruises and soreness I advise that you tone it down a tad? Even Janine thought you were a taskmaster." She said icily. Trodaire gulped, and nodded. Finally, Sabrina took a deep breath. "Thirdly…"  
There was an awkward pause. For the first time, Trodaire and Paulie thought that Miss Sabrina seemed at a loss for words. Yet she recovered.

"Thirdly. There is a league function coming up in a week at the Indigo Plateau. It is expected for the gym leaders to make an appearance. It is also expected that we bring someone along with us. So I wished to extend an invitation to you to come with me on Friday one week from today at 8 P.M. to the Indigo Plateau Ballroom Gala. Would you be interested?" She finished.

There was a comically long silence. Trodaire and Paulie looked at Sabrina, and then to each other, and then back to Sabrina.

"Miss Sabrina, are yeh's-" Paulie began.

"-asking me to be your date?" Trodaire finished in disbelief. Sabrina felt herself growing a little red in the cheek.

"I understand if you don't want to, I in fact assumed that you would be busy. It's just that I wished to be courteous but now I see that I was just being foolish and if you'll excuse me I think I'll be going and-"

"Sure." The single word was enough to stop her rambling, and enough to make Paulie do a double take at Trodaire being so self-confident. He had a small, goofy little smile on his face, but it was a smile nonetheless. "Sure, I'll go with you. Sounds like fun!"

Sabrina smiled. "Ok. I'll see you then." She turned and walked off.

Paulie and Trodaire continued to watch her walk off in the direction of the Saffron Gym, neither saying a word. Then, Paulie slowly held up his hand and closed it into a fist. Trodaire, without looking at his friend or changing the disbelieving expression on his face, bumped his fist against Paulie's.

A/N: And another one bites the dust! What do you think? Let me know!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**TRODAIRE**_

__"Okay guys, I called you in early for a reason." Trodaire said, gathering the team together in front of the boxing ring in the center of the Fight Club. "We're going to be getting done with work early today, because I want to devote a good section of the day to watching film for the three fighters Steven picked. Therefore, I figured it would be smart to get the actual exercise out of the way first." He turned to Excadrill. "I've got to be perfectly honest, little guy, you are tiny. _Tiny._ If we were to send you in against either Haxorus or even Dragonite, they might be able to stomp you six feet into the ground."

Excadrill shrugged. Trodaire had a point. But before he could get too down on himself, Trodaire grinned.

"But that was never the point, was it pipsqueak? If we were plotting to throw you into a regular slug-it-out match you'd get buried. But I want you to do something completely different. You can't hit nearly as hard as either Armaldo or Aggron, but you can throw shots far, _far _quicker than either of them. Your only hope is to use quickness, and you're in luck: a Salamence is one of the slower Dragons when it is on the ground. Make no mistake though: it could knock you out in one solid hit. So we're not gonna give it that opportunity, are we?" He asked. Excadrill nodded, and clapped its paws together.

"What do you have in mind?" Steven asked. Trodaire smiled.

"I want him to be able to hold on for dear life. Grab onto the back of that sunavagun and throw punches for all he's got!" He whistled, and Bettie's Conkeldurr sauntered into view. It was carrying what looked like a battering ram, with silver hook sticking out from the ends. It set the wooden plank down, and then unhooked several ropes that were hanging from the ceiling. After tying the rope to the plank, Conkeldurr lifted the wood so that it was about three feet suspended above the boxing ring. Trodaire motioned to Excadrill. "Get on!" He barked.

Excadrill nodded. It scampered to the top of the wooden plank, and straddled it like it was riding a Rapidash. Trodaire pointed to the four corners of the plank.

"Those ropes are holding that baby in place, little guy. As you can see, there's plenty left over for us to do this." He grabbed some runoff rope from a corner, and yanked it down. The wooden plank lurched violently in that direction, and Excadrill gave a cry of shock as it tried to maintain balance without falling off. Trodaire laughed. "You're getting it, Drill! You gotta stay on that thing for as long as you can, because this is what it's gonna be like holding onto the back of an enraged, in-flight Salamence!" He began to shake one of the ropes, and then gestured for Steven to grab another. As the two of them began to make the suspended wooden plank lurch violently back and forth in spastic directions, Trodaire pointed for Cynthia to grab another corner, and then finally had Aggron grab the last corner. As the quartet did their best to make life hell for the poor Excadrill, Paulie watched from the safety of his desk in the office room, sipping a coffee and reading the daily paper.

"Talk about horsin' around…" He grumbled.

Finally, after about two minutes, Excadrill misjudged which direction to lean his body and with a cry fell over and landed hard on his back. Groaning, the little mole-like creature immediately sat back up. Trodaire smirked.

"Way to land on your back instead of your wrists. I don't want you breaking anything while we play with the bucking bronco board of doom." He said. He chuckled a little bit. "This is going to be the hard part: learning to stay on. Once you get that down, it's gonna be easy for you to punch Salamence in the back of the head for like three minutes. Which in case you were wondering, in back-of-the-head time…that's freaking _forever._"

Everyone got a laugh out of that one.

_**STEVEN **_

Trodaire had led the six Pokemon over to a projector screen, and was in the middle of leading them through a film session of studying Lance's most recent battles with the Pokemon he was using that fight. Thus, Steven and Cynthia decided to excuse themselves and go walking through Saffron City. Trodaire agreed, but asked that they remember to show back up before it was time to close up shop for the day.

They had taken a detour away from the more technologically-advanced city center, and had found themselves in a park that bordered the edge of the city and was in the direction of Celadon City. They had found a park bench, and were content to just sit there and watch the trees sway quietly in the wind.

"It's a nice city." Cynthia said quietly. "I never would have figured it when we first came here, but it's starting to grow on me. Maybe we should look into sticking around after the fight." Steven grunted in agreement, which drew a smirk from Cynthia. "Why do I waste my time discussing these sorts of things with guys? They always sound like cavemen…"

"I dunno. I'm not really one to put words to my feelings about things I like." Steven admitted. "I just…like the things I like."

"Or sometimes you don't voice feelings and they boil up inside of you." Cynthia said, raising an eyebrow. "We're away from Trodaire for a while, you know. How are you really feeling about all of this?"

Steven was silent for a very, very long time. When he spoke, his voice was small.

"I believe we can do it. I want to believe it, anyway." He said. "But I have my doubts."

"Don't we all have our doubts?" Cynthia said. "Have a little faith; I believe in you. Shouldn't that be enough if the ones you care about believe in you?"

"Don't the people who care about Lance believe in him too?" Steven asked slightly bitterly. To his surprise, Cynthia didn't get angry. Instead, she laughed. It was a musical kind of sound, and it made Steven feel a little fuzzy inside even though he'd had no intention of feeling that way. Cynthia looked at him, staring silently until Steven turned to make eye contact.

"Do you know why I said you don't want to be like Lance?" Cynthia asked. Steven shrugged.

"I dunno, I just thought that you were saying it as encouragement." Steven admitted. Cynthia snorted.

"Please. I saw how you looked when I more or less admitted to Trodaire that Lance and I saw each other for a short time. First off, don't freak out. Under no circumstances am I leaving you to go back to Lance. One, you know I love you so that jealousy is just silly. Two, you really _really_ are kidding yourself if you think you want to be Lance. I want you to know something that I've never told anyone, ok? And when I'm finished, you'll know why exactly you should be glad that you are Steven Stone, and not Lance the Dragon Master." She said confidently. Steven patiently nodded, and so Cynthia began to speak.

"Well, I went out with Lance for about two months. It was three years ago, before we really met. At the time, I was drawn to him the way we all are first drawn to him: the good looks, the elegance in public, the prestige of being a direct descendant of the Dragon Masters of old, the fact that he is such a hallowed battler, his friendship with that near-mythical boy from Mount Silver…the fancy capes…" they both chuckled at this last one. Then Cynthia's expression saddened a little bit. "But as time went on, and I got to see more of the personal Lance…I started to have reservations. Now don't get me wrong, he always treated me like a queen but…try as I might I could never **connect** with him. Do you know what I mean?"

Steven wasn't entirely sure he knew what she meant, but knew that the smart thing to do was nod in the hopes that she'd elaborate. So he nodded, and his hunch was rewarded.

"Lance is an absolute genius when it comes to battling," Cynthia said. "He can see things happening in a way no one else I've ever met can. The best analogy I can think of is this: we all watch a Pokemon battle like it's a parade, taking in the sights and sounds and emotions as they come. Well, Lance…it's like he watches the parade from above. He's able to see all of the twists that it might…or might _not_ take. It's just a gift, and it's something that I don't think either you or I will ever truly be able to understand." She sighed. "But all of his gifts as a battler, none of it really translates to the rest of his life."

"What do you mean?" Steven asked. Cynthia shrugged.

"When the battle is over, and the lights go off in the stadium and the fans go home…I don't know what Lance has left. He doesn't really have that many friends if any, the closest family he has is that horrible bitch of a cousin Clair, and his best friend is a young man that I have never heard utter a single word, much less a _sound._ I could never get him to stop thinking about the next battle; the next thing to do as Champion…he never stopped planning for the next event. He hasn't stopped, I should say." She sighed.

"In a way, I guess I understand it. Ever since he was little he's been known as a great battler. While most of us are learning how to deal with Pokemon for the first time in our lives, he was being crowned Champion of Kanto. He's turning 30 in a few months: he's been the best since he was 13. _13!_ He's been number one in this country for more than half of his life! He's the champion of Kanto, one of the greatest men to step into the stadium ring, a guy who we'll probably see countless hagiographies written on him when he dies…and yet that's all his life is. He's the Dragon Master. That _is_ his life. He's never been able to enjoy…_this._" She gestured to the park around them. "He could never enjoy the little things like sitting on a park bench with the one he loved just listening to the way the wind whispers in the trees, because he thinks he doesn't have time for that. He's in a manic race against the clock, or so he's convinced himself, that he needs to spend all of his waking moments proving he is the greatest. He's a charming, intelligent and good-looking man. But he's also painfully, pathetically, poignantly alone."

Then Cynthia did something that Steven couldn't possibly have expected: she cupped her hands around his face, brought him in close, and gave him the most passionate kiss he'd ever had in his entire life. Words couldn't do it justice, and when they broke away he was in a daze. Cynthia smiled slightly.

"You're not like that, Steven. You have interests that go far beyond just Pokemon battling. Your relationship with your team is far chummier than that of the stoic professionalism I saw between Lance and his. You can randomly strike up a conversation with someone off of the street, and even remember their name if you were to bump into them the following day. You actually figured out how to have a life along with your career. That's something that few people are able to do in this world. You are _special_, and never in a million years should you wish to trade places with anyone. _Especially_ Lance." She winked. "Now, do you still think that you don't want to be you, and instead be Lance?"

Steven blinked once, before smiling a little goofily.

"No…I don't think so." He said finally. "I think I'm just happy the way I am." He looked around. "Do you think we should head back to the Fight Club?" He asked. Cynthia smiled, and shook her head.

"Nah. I think I wanna stay here for a little bit longer." She said.

And so they sat, Steven's arm wrapped around Cynthia's waist while she rested her head on his shoulder. And the wind it blew through the trees, slithering through the leaves like that of a million silenced whispers.

_**SABRINA**_

Misty had promised her that they'd videochat at the end of the business day, and when Sabrina logged onto her computer in her private quarters of the gym she was not disappointed to see the little blinking light in the corner of her PC indicating an incoming chat. Pressing the appropriate buttons, Sabrina was greeted with the sight of Misty sitting in front of her own desktop, the aquamarine wallpaper matching the outfit the Cerulean City leader had chosen for the day…perhaps a little _too _well.

"Still hurting?" Sabrina asked, daring to test the redhead's infamous hair-trigger temper. Misty rolled her eyes.

"_As if._" She said. "_I have this big ol' swimming pool to stretch out the muscles. That, and when one has to deal with an immature Gyarados, one cannot afford to take a sick day due to massive soreness._" She sighed. "_Sometimes I wish I had your job. It sounds mighty fun to have Pokemon that are all adult and serious-like in a time like this."_

"Don't bet on it." Sabrina said. "Some of them have a disappointingly childish sense of humor."

"_I heard that, My Lady._"

"_Was that your Alakazam?"_ Misty asked, her eyes widened. "_Tell him I say hi! I remember when he was just a Kadabra!_"

"I'll pass along the sentiment." Sabrina said. Misty looked satisfied. Then, she had a thought.

"_Hey, did you get Lorelei's email?_" Misty asked. Sabrina sighed, rolling her eyes. This conversation was gonna suck…

"Yes, I did." Sabrina said. Misty looked expectant.

"_Aaaannd? Are you going or not?_" She asked. "_I hope you are, and I hope you found a date. Brock has been pestering me to find someone for him, and I reeeally don't want to have to say that you're available. I could never do that to a friend of mine."_ She winked. Sabrina raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't Brock a friend of yours, too?" She accused. Misty held up her hands in protest.

"_Well, yeah. But you know the saying: Chicks before Di-_"

"I know, I know." Sabrina cut her off. "Thanks for that. Are you going?"

"_Duh!_" Misty said. "_I never miss an opportunity to chow on the free food that the Indigo Plateau serves!_"

"Well, that's good." Sabrina said. "Now I have someone to hang with." Misty's eyes widened in realization.

"_Ohmigod you're actually going? With wh-" _She widened her eyes even further (if that was even possible) "_Oh. My. God. Did you ask HIM?_"

Sabrina didn't answer, instead blushing a deep shade of crimson. Misty proceeded to squeal.

"_I knew it, I knew it, I KNEW IT! I knew you thought he was cute!"_ She said. Sabrina got defensive.

"I never said that. He's right next door and he was available. Nothing more to it than that." She said. To her surprise (and secret delight), Misty seemed to drop that line of questioning. But the smirk on the Cerulean leader's face led Sabrina to reason that this wouldn't be the last time this topic would be brought up.

"_Well I think that that's a great idea!_" She scrunched her face up in thought. "_Does he have a suit?_"

Uh oh.

"A…suit?" Sabrina asked. Misty nodded.

"_Yeah! It is a rather high-class event and he'll need a suit and-_" Misty seemed to realize what Sabrina's hesitation was. "_You're worried about the face tattoos aren't you."_ It wasn't a question so much as it was a statement. Sabrina nodded. "_Well, he is a tan-skinned guy and the tattoos are faded white but-_"

"But in a suit and tie he's gonna stick out like a sore thumb." Sabrina sighed. "Why did I do this again?"

"_Because you are a nice person beneath that supposedly cold exterior. That, and you want to end that reputation you have of being the lonely psychic who can't get a date._" Misty said.

"DESPERATELY-I mean, you're right." Sabrina said. "I don't think he has one, but I don't want to go back there and ask. It'll be weird."

"_Then I'll do it!" _Misty said cheerily.

"What?" Sabrina asked. Misty nodded.

"_Yeah, I'm planning on stopping by Celadon tomorrow to visit Erika and get some things for the gym, but I can totally fit in time for suit-shopping with your Desert Prince._" She winked. Then, she looked worried. "_But this is a Johto/Kanto event, you know that right?"_

"So?" Sabrina asked. It always was.

"_So that means…she'll be there too."_ Misty said with dread.

"She? Who are you talking abou-" Sabrina began.

Oh, right. Her.

"Well, Clair can kiss my ass for all I care. Nobody likes her anyway. I don't even think that her boyfriend likes her."

"_Then she must make up for it by being really great in-_" Misty started, before getting abruptly cut off by an embarrassed psychic.

"STOP, Misty. I don't want to think about that." Sabrina said. Misty frowned.

"_But I think you're gonna have to tread lightly, though. Trodaire is explicitly training Steven to beat his cousin. If someone were to ask him what his job is, he would probably say that. And Clair would get mad. Remember how she went after poor, sweet Alder during that Unova retreat when he allegedly 'didn't give Lance enough credit for his own greatness?'" _Misty asked.

"I remember." Sabrina said darkly. Thankfully, Alder was more confused during the incident than shamed, but for the longest time all anyone could talk about amongst gym leaders was Clair's psychotic elitism regarding her Dragon Master lineage.

"_She'll make that seem like she was Mr. Fuji from Lavender Town if she corners Trodaire._" Misty said darkly. Normally, Sabrina would agree with her friend. But then she thought to the times she'd seen Trodaire in duress. Each and every time he had smiled…and proceeded to stay one step ahead of everything.

"I dunno, I think we might have to be more worried about Clair than Trodaire." Sabrina admitted. Misty looked surprised, but decided to trust her friends judgment.

"_If you say so, Sabrina. Hey, I gotta go. Gyarados needs to be fed and I don't trust ANY of my sisters to do that job._" She smiled and waved. "_Talk to you after I go shopping with your Romeo! Byeeee!_" She cut the connection, ensuring she got the last word. Sighing, Sabrina leaned back into her chair.

That gala was going to be interesting.

A/N: I DO NOT HATE LANCE. He is easily in my top five most awesome trainers in the game…that being said, I think that it makes for a fascinating character to depict a champion in that manner. What's to say that Lance is a God Mode Sue (Is that what they call it on TVTropes?) who has no discernible flaws outside of his impeccable battling skills? Again, this is not to imply that I will always think of Lance in this way. But for the principle of attemptedly-interesting-storytelling, I aim to give a more Byronic quality to Lance just as I aim to give that to the rest of the people in my story. They're characters in a story, yes, but they are human, and human beings are not perfect. Also, who wants to read a story about flawless characters? Unless there is an acceptable plot reasoning for the flawlessness, then the answer to that question I believe is no.

Anyway, give a review if you can. If you have a question/complaint about my characterization of Lance I will absolutely offer a more in-depth defense to you in a personal message. But remember: I have portrayed Cynthia's depiction of Lance. We still haven't even met him yet. What's to say that he's as bad as she says? Or, on the other hand, what's to say that she is greatly exaggerating his positives?

We'll find out, I guess, won't we?

See you next time!


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**TRODAIRE**_

__The mood was tense in the gym. Everyone was staring at Trodaire, who was standing in the middle of the boxing ring just like he always did, although this time there was an abnormally serious air about him. He was looking past everyone in the gym, and was staring directly at Aggron.

"I don't have anything to say that could sugarcoat the truth, so I'm just going to cut right to the chase, big guy." He said. "Your job is the hardest out of everyone here. Armaldo probably has the edge in his match because of experience and the fact that Haxorus isn't going to like getting slammed into the ground over and over again. Excadrill is tricky, but he's got the claws to hang onto Salamence if the thing takes to the air. But you…you're going up against perhaps the single most famous Pokemon in the Pokemon League. For some perspective, there aren't any Aggron action figures and t-shirts that they sell at match apparel shops. Your foe is Lance's Dragonite. The Dragonite that once went up against a 18-Pokemon gauntlet of the Kanto Pokemon League for a charity match that ended up turning into must-see TV. The Dragonite that knocked out Cynthia's Garchomp in one punch."

Cynthia looked a little bit embarrassed by that last one, but didn't say anything. You can't argue against the truth. Trodaire shrugged apologetically, and then continued talking.

"It's fast, it's powerful, and it is near-legendary. And your job is to beat it. One on one. In an officially sanctioned Pokemon League match, where the world is watching. Oh, and it has never lost before so if you do beat it there may be rioting in some areas of the world. So, y'know, no pressure or anything." He said. Steven had an annoyed look on his face.

"Ok, Trodaire, what's the deal? Why are you telling Aggron all of this? Are you trying to psyche him out?" He demanded. Trodaire shook his head.

"On the contrary, Steven. I'm trying to dispel any illusions he might have of this being an easy fight. It's going to be the hardest thing that he's ever done. Bar none. But in overly simplifying the fight itself, I in turn make the solution to the fight simplified as well." He said. Steven raised an eyebrow.

"And how do you propose to do that?" He asked. Trodaire grinned.

"Simple. Aggron? You know how you're going to beat Dragonite?" He asked.

Aggron shrugged, and then looked expectantly. Trodaire grinned some more.

"You're going to punch it." He said proudly.

There was a long, awkward pause. Cynthia spoke up.

"Seriously? We've paid the fees for this gym for about two months now, and the best you can come up with for beating Dragonite is _punching it?_" She asked incredulously. Steven put a hand on her shoulder.

"Easy, Cynthia. Relax…" He said. Then he turned to Trodaire. "_Seriously,_ Trodaire? _Punching it?_"

Even Aggron seemed a little confused. Trodaire was just laughing.

"Sometimes the best solutions are the ones that are the most simple." He said. "In this case, your best bet for beating Dragonite is luring it in close…and then hitting it like a runaway freight train. Paulie! What was Aggron's most recent PSI counter reading?" He asked. From inside the receptionist office, Paulie's annoyed voice rang out through the door.

"Aggron clocked in at about **5251**, Troddie!" He shouted. Trodaire shrugged as if to prove his point.

"See? You can punch really hard, big guy. And if there is one weakness, _one_, that Lance's Dragonite has, it is that it is really not a fan of getting punched in the face. Or taking any other sort of blunt force trauma." He reasoned. Now Steven and Cynthia were relaxed a little bit more, though they were still a little bit miffed that Trodaire was being so flippant about this training exercise.

"Okay, so Aggron is supposed to punch Dragonite in the face. Or just anywhere that he can. The question is, how is he going to do that? Dragonite is not just going to stand there and let its jaw hang out for a free shot, Trodaire." Steven pointed out. Trodaire nodded.

"Excellent point, Steven. No one is willing to let someone punch them in the face voluntarily, unless they're crazy or have used Harden about fifteen freaking times in a row." He gestured to the suspended contraption that they had used with Excadrill the previous day. "That's why we're going to use Dragonite's favored tactic against it: its speed." He said. Conkeldurr had hooked up one of the weighted heavy bags to the suspender ropes, and then sauntered off. Clapping, Trodaire gestured to the contraption once more.

"What have you got planned this time, Trodaire?" Steven asked. The Orrean smiled.

"Dragonite loves to take to the air, and utilize moves like Giga Impact to smash its foes head-on by hitting them in the chest like a speeding bullet. So what we're going to do is simulate that situation! Big guy, we've reconfigured the bucking bronco board of doom into a swinging battering ram of pain!...because I don't really know how to think of creative names for anything that I make, but that's besides the point! We're going to lift the battering ram up into the air, and then let it swing down towards you. This simulates the swooping dive that Dragonite makes before it unloads a world of hurt. So what we'll be doing is unloading the world of hurt first! When it is about to hit you, you're gonna punch at it as hard as you can and send the thing flying back up! You're hitting it before it hits you. Make sense?" He asked.

Aggron nodded.

Trodaire blew a whistle, and Conkeldurr lifted the battering ram up into the air. Aggron stood in the center of the ring, and with a deep breath planted its feet and barked out a noise indicating its readiness. With that, the battering ram was released. As it descended down towards the Steel type, it scowled and curled its hand into a fist. Rearing back, it let the punch fly as soon as it deemed it the time to do so.

**WHAM.**

The battering ram was sent flying back into the air, before it came back down again for another round. Again, Aggron reared back and smashed the battering ram in the safe padded area. It was sent flying again, but not as high up. As it swung down, Aggron repeated the process, this time switching hands so as to avoid hurting itself. With each punch of descending strength, the arc that the battering ram took lessened and lessened, until it was barely moving, and Aggron collapsed against it, nearly pulling the thing down with its weight. Trodaire blew a whistle.

"That's it! Paulie, get Aggron some ice!" He shouted. He grabbed Aggron's face and made the massive Pokemon look him directly in the eye. "Just like that big guy. Just. Like. That. And Dragonite won't know what hit it!" He said.

Aggron winced, busy thinking about the aching pain it would feel in its knuckles the following morning. But for now, amongst the clapping and cheering of its teammates, master, master's special one, and coach, it felt proud of itself.

_It felt good to be strong._

_**MISTY**_

She cornered him right outside of the Fight Club just as he was locking the door for the day. She had glanced at her watch in confusion: it was only about three o clock, so that meant that he had called it early for some reason. Not that that mattered, for now she had more time to focus on the task at hand.

Trodaire turned around to come face to face with Misty, and flinched badly.

"GAH! You girls need to stop doing that!" He said. He raised an eyebrow." Uh, what can I do for you Misty?" He asked. Misty didn't respond, instead grabbing his wrist forcefully. "Hey! Where are we goin-" Trodaire began to protest, before the Cerulean gym leader cut him off.

"Zip it! We're going to Celadon City and we are getting you something to wear!" She said authoritatively. Trodaire was confused.

"B-but I'm already wearing something right now!" He whined. Misty stopped, looked at him in disbelief, and rolled her eyes. If Trodaire didn't know any better, he'd say that he could actually see part of her brain dying from listening to him.

"You cannot be that freaking stupid." Misty said. "The gala in a week. The one that Sabrina so kindly asked you to go to. Remember that?" She asked testily. Trodaire dumbly nodded. "So, Romeo, do you have something to wear?" She asked again. Trodaire was about to speak again, until Misty cut him off once more. "Nope, don't even bother. I know that you didn't prepare for this and that you do not have anything that matches the level of apparel required for a fancy black tie event. So we're going shopping. Now."

"Bu-but I can't afford any of this!" Trodaire said. "Even with Steven and Cynthia's payments I'm barely staying ahead of the bills! This'll ruin my savings account!" He said. Misty sighed.

"You're a moron, Trodaire. _I'm _paying for this. Get it?" She asked. Before Trodaire could say anything to the contrary, Misty once again interrupted his train of thought before it left the station. "I'm a girl, it's what we do. Besides, if you looked at the price tag that we're about to run up, you'd have a stroke anyway. So this is better if I'm the one that does the heavy lifting, got it?" She asked. Trodaire knew better than to argue, and with that Misty dragged him off to the Celadon City department store roughly twenty minutes away.

_**TRODAIRE**_

This was perhaps the worst thing that he had ever been a part of. He'd gotten into a street fight or two back home in Orre, and compared to what he was dealing with right now those would've been welcome breaks from the horror that he was currently being subjected to. For hours upon hours it felt like (though Misty had snidely told him that in reality it was only closer to about 20 minutes apiece) he was standing up on boxes in the middle of overly-classy designer stores being fitted for a tuxedo and tie. He'd never even _seen_ people wearing tuxedoes in Orre. In fact, it was almost a running joke to insult someone's masculinity by claiming that they'd look good in a tux. Trodaire had been witness to (and taken part in) at least several barroom brawls that had been started over such a slight. And yet here he was listening to some little old lady prattle in his ear how this tuxedo would make him look so _hand_some, honey! Dearie, I could just eat you up! He glared over at Misty, who was sitting on a bench and snapping photos on her phone. They made eye contact, and the look on her face told him everything he needed to know.

_This is payback for what you did to us during the self-defense seminar._

This was perhaps the worst day of his life.

_**MISTY**_

This was perhaps the greatest day of her life.

_**TRODAIRE**_

After about three hours or so of hell, Misty led the weary Trodaire out of the last store, carrying a multitude of bags. She looked at him and winked.

"Have fun, Trodaire?" She asked.

If looks could kill, Trodaire would have supermurdered her with that stare of his. Instead, Misty just smiled and led him back to Saffron. When they arrived in front of the Fight Club, Misty cleared her throat to get his attention.

"Listen, bub. I don't know if you realize this, but Sabrina has never, _ever_ asked anyone to one of these galas in the history of ever. It's either been me or Erika setting her up with some loser that she ends up complaining about the day after, so needless to say you will be watched very, _very_ carefully. And make no mistake, if you make her cry…I will make _you _cry." She pulled out a wooden mallet from absolutely nowhere and waved it threateningly in Trodaire's face. He was too scared by the look on her face to question the logical impossibility of her carrying a wooden mallet that he hadn't seen up until that point. So he just dumbly nodded.

"Uh huh, sure." He said. Then Misty's expression turned somewhat sad.

"Also, I've noticed something about you. You tend to get rather touchy about when people insult your heritage and where you're from. You're not going to have to worry about it from me, Erika, Sabrina, or the friends that we'll meet up with before we go to the gala as a big group…but we're not everyone. There will probably be a lot of people there that view Orreans as second-class people because of the state of affairs in your region, and there will be at least _one_ off-color to borderline-racist joke made at your expense. Before you think about kicking the offending person's teeth in, remember that you're with Sabrina…and she feels like a freak around that crowd to begin with." She said. Trodaire looked confused.

"Why would she feel like a freak? She's, uh, pretty." He said. He didn't notice the triumphant gleam in Misty's eyes, but she continued to explain.

"For the longest time, Sabrina didn't have any friends. It was just her here hiding in the Saffron gym and kicking butt against anyone that stood up against her. Then Erika and I managed to be her friends, but there are still people who think that we're just being nice and aren't actually her friends. Which is bullshit, but that's beside the point. Even now, people think that she's the weirdo psychic who can't get a date. So suffice it to say she's kind of nervous about this whole gala event herself. So please try to be on your best behavior." She finished. To her surprise, Trodaire nodded solemnly.

"I will." He said. Misty nodded, was about to turn around and walk away, but then stopped and said one last thing.

"If you tell her _anything_ that I just said…well, actually I won't have to kill you because she'll do it first. See you at the gala!" She said cheerily, and then walked off. As she disappeared, the sun began to set, leaving a reflective and contemplative Trodaire in the twilight.

A/N: Next chapter is the big ol' event. We'll see how Mr. Phoenix handles his first time being around the champion (and the man he's supposed to help beat) Lance…fufufu…tune in next time!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**SABRINA**_

__There was still a very large part of her that didn't want to do this. Sure, Misty had promised her that this time would be different and that this time would be memorable, but that didn't change the fact that this was still completely uncharted territory for her.

For starters, Sabrina had never asked anyone to go to this gala in the years that she'd been in charge of the Saffron Gym.

Secondly, she'd never thought that she'd be going and actually expecting to care about what happened there…for once.

And thirdly, she'd never expected that the person she was going with was going to be _him._

Still, Misty and the others were expecting her to show up at the Cerulean Gym on time, and then they were all going to go to the gala together in a limosine that that blockhead friend of Misty's, Brock, had rented. Just the thought of being cramped in something like that in close proximity to that blockhead was enough to make Sabrina wrinkle her nose. Yet, there she was, sitting in front of her mirror preparing for the event. She'd chosen a subdued-looking black dress on the advice of Misty (who had picked out Trodaire's tuxedo and assured her that this was the correct thing to do), and was currently deciding over what makeup to wear.

_Why do I even care that much about this?_ She wondered. Then she shrugged and sighed. _At least I can imagine that Trodaire is just getting incredibly worked up over this too…_

_**TRODAIRE**_

If it hadn't been for Paulie, he'd have completely forgotten the whole thing. The older gentleman had come into the Fight Club, seen Trodaire exercising and _not_ getting ready for the event, and then proceeded to howl over how he needed to be in Cerulean City in half an hour for the limo, and there was no way that the kid was missing the chance to go to a gala with a pretty girl (even if it _was_ Sabrina) just so he could put in another hour of martial arts practice. So Paulie had dragged him back to his and Betties' house, forcibly driven Trodaire into his tux, and then sent him on his merry way to Cerulean.

And so that was how Trodaire Phoenix found himself standing in front of the Cerulean City gym, standing in a tuxedo and knocking on the door. Though it was getting dark, he could see that Cerulean was far different than Saffron. While Saffron was a large and bustling metropolis, Cerulean was much more quiet and peaceful. Sleepy would be the word he would use to describe it. There was a whole lot of green, be it the many trees in the area or the forests that surrounded the nearby Mount Moon. Other than the gym and the Pokemon Center, it seemed unlikely that there was another building in the area that was taller than two stories high. He could hear the waves of the Great Kanto Sea lapping against the beach rocks in the distance, and for a moment stopped to listen to that soft and quiet sound. He'd never been to Gateon Port, the only city in Orre that was right on the water. He'd never heard a sound like that before. It was…pretty.

He was so into listening to the beach water that he at first didn't notice the door open, until he heard a little squealing noise.

"Oh my gosh, Trodaire, you look GREAT!" Misty said. "I _do_ know how to pick out an outfit." She added somewhat smugly. She was wearing an aquamarine dress that matched the color of her eyes almost perfectly, so much so that it was slightly unsettling. Well, at least for Trodaire. Whoever Misty's date was, he probably wouldn't mind that much. Trodaire awkwardly shrugged.

"It's…it's nice. Thanks, Misty." He said. He looked around, a little unsure. "Uh, can I come in?" He asked. Misty just rolled her eyes, grabbed him by the wrist, and yanked him through the front door.

He was quickly introduced to the entire gang. There was Erika, wearing a faded green dress that almost seemed like a Kimono, and had her hair wrapped into a fancy bun with what appeared to be chopsticks in the back of it. (He didn't want to seem stupid, so he didn't ask about them) Her "date" was this pleasant, if rather mild, young man named Seamus, who was a fellow Grass-type trainer that Erika had known since they were both kids.

Brock was next. Tan-skinned, tall, boisterous, a little squinty-eyed, and very personable, Trodaire hit it off with him almost immediately. If nothing else, it probably had to do with the fact that Brock revealed that he had a little bit of Orrean blood in him too, from his mother's side of the family. Brock admitted that it wasn't much, like maybe ten percent at this point, but that was good enough for Trodaire to feel a little less ostracized. When Trodaire asked Misty where her date was, she proceeded to blush furiously and wouldn't respond. That was when Brock chimed in that Misty's date had stood her up, and that he was stepping in just so that Misty wouldn't go alone. Trodaire thought that that was rather noble of him, considering that Misty looked like she was going to hit him in the face with a mallet at any given moment.

That left-_whoa._ There she was. Sabrina had just come out of an adjacent door, wearing an onyx-black dress that made her almost violet-blue eyes really stand out. She had a slightly dumbstruck look on her face, and it took Trodaire a good three seconds to realize that it was because she was staring at him too. Legitimately staring, as in wondering how this scruffy kid from Orre could clean up like that. He had to admit, Paulie and Bettie had done a good job helping him get set up. He looked dignified, and his facial tattoos were pronounced in a way that seemed…almost _cool_ instead of barbaric. He cleared his throat.

"You, um, you look great…Sabrina." He managed to offer. She blinked once in confusion.

"Huh? Oh, thank you. You, you too." She said. That was the last thing that they said to each other for now, because at that moment Misty came barreling back into the room shouting that the limo was there.

It was a large, white vehicle with more than enough space for the six of them. As the very friendly cabdriver began headed down the highway towards the Indigo Plateau, Misty couldn't resist asking Trodaire something.

"There anything like this in Orre, Trodaire?" She asked. Sabrina, who was sitting next to Trodaire, turned to look at the man sitting next to her. He furrowed his brow in thought, before shrugging.

"The closest thing I can think of is the festival at Phenac City." He admitted. Everyone was now intrigued.

"What's Phenac like?" Seamus asked. Trodaire smiled a little bit before speaking.

"It's an oasis in the middle of the desert. Beautiful, cool waterfalls and fountains that keep the city from drying up in the middle of the Orre heat. We don't have an official gym, but we do have a coliseum, and it is something to behold." He said. He looked at Misty. "I bet you'd like it there."

Misty looked intrigued, and proceeded to nod.

"Anything a psychic would like?" Sabrina found herself asking, before her eyes widened in realization of what she just did. Misty glanced backwards towards her with a slightly triumphant look in her eyes, but didn't say anything. Trodaire hadn't caught that, and neither had Sabrina, so he just continued as if nothing had happened.

"Well, you might like Gateon Port too. It's the closest thing to Saffron that we have in Orre. Well, that or Agate Village. There really isn't a whole lot in Orre that isn't a little run down or hastily constructed out of spare parts. It's a…rough country." He finished. Trodaire looked a little unsure. Brock clapped him on the shoulder.

"But you managed to come out of it just fine, Trodaire. Now look at you! About to head to the Indigo Plateau Gala!" He said. Trodaire shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm honored." He said. Sabrina was staring at him, watching his facial expression, when she came to a stunning conclusion: he was seriously rattled. There probably wasn't anything remotely close to this sort of thing back in Orre. He was completely out of his comfort zone, and there wasn't any way that he could punch or fight his way out of it to make it more comfortable. He looked a little…scared.

A funny thought crossed Sabrina's mind. One that, had it struck her not a few months before, she would have immediately banished as ridiculous and unworthy. But here it was, and she was not objecting to it in the slightest. _It's my job to make sure that he doesn't get humiliated._

_**SABRINA**_

For all of her calm and collected nature, Sabrina had to admit that the Indigo Plateau always gave her chills whenever she was at it. Especially at night. At night, the marble-carved statues of Pokemon of old loomed against the moonlit sky, and the skylights reflected off of them to create an eerie, hollow and pallid glow. Rows upon rows of impeccably trimmed hedges and other plants gave the place an even more hallowed feel, as if to tell the small and insignificant trainers walking in its mythical gardens: _You are on ancient ground. Trainers will come and trainers will go, but the Indigo Plateau will continue to stand._

The Indigo Plateau was a bit of a misnomer, seeing as how the entire establishment was built on a gently sloping mountain that trainers called "Victory Road" rather than a plateau outright. However, at the top of the mountain they'd leveled off the land to build a beautiful, all-marble chrome and steel structure that positively gleamed in the morning sunrise and illuminated the foggy mist at night. It was a place truly befitting the original chapter of the Pokemon League.

She glanced over at Trodaire, who had his mouth slightly agape in shock and awe at what he was seeing. Sabrina smiled a little bit.

"This is the pride and joy of Kanto. Are you impressed?" She asked. Trodaire turned to look at her. There was a sardonic look in his eyes as he raised his hand and pinched his thumb and index finger together, while silently mouthing the words "a little." Sabrina just laughed. Behind them, Brock and Misty were watching intently.

"You're that convinced?" Brock asked. Misty nodded adamantly.

"I am, Brock. I am totally convinced. When have I ever been wrong?" She asked. Brock tapped his chin in mock thought.

"Oh, I can think of a few things…" He began, a small smile playing on his lips.

"ZIP IT." Misty snapped. Brock just chuckled and shrugged. His old friend hadn't lost that hair-trigger temper of hers. Now, if only their other friend had made it tonight…

After getting checked into the event, everyone took a seat. The sixteen gyms of Kanto and Johto were each represented…as well as a few other people. As Sabrina and Trodaire took a seat at their table (to their disappointment, they weren't assigned to the same table as Misty and Brock and Erika), Trodaire pointed over to the table in question.

"So who are all of the old people dressed very regally over there?" He asked. Sabrina turned scarlet in embarrassment

"Don't so that so loud!" She hissed. She looked at the group as well. "That's the Dragon Clan, Lance and Clair's family. They come every year to this event." Trodaire raised an eyebrow.

"I thought that this was a gym leaders-only event?" He asked a little bit snidely. Sabrina could catch the tone in his voice, and for once agreed with him.

"That's the truth of it," she said. "But Lorelei…" She trailed off and pointed to the Kanto Elite Four member, who was currently chatting it up with the table in question.

"…Lorelei so very desperately wants to be in their good favor." The voice was old and weathered, pleasant and soft, but certainly not Trodaire's. Sabrina turned around and found her face was now practically on fire, for taking a seat right next to Trodaire (and across from her) was none other than Agatha. The Ghost Master of the Elite Four. Trodaire seemed blissfully unaware of who this was, and put on a warm smile.

"It would appear so." He said. He extended a hand. "It's Trodaire. Trodaire Phoenix. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?"

"Agatha. Her name's Agatha." Came another voice. This one was gruff, burly and baritone. Trodaire looked up to see a massive man in a suit and tie, his muscles practically ripping out of his suit. He had long and spiked hair that he had tied back into a ponytail, yet still managed to not look completely ridiculous in doing so. "And I'm Bruno. That's a nice name you got there, Mr. Phoenix. You know what it means?" He asked. Trodaire shrugged with a sheepish grin.

"Well, yeah…I'm surprised that you know it, sir…Sabrina, is everything alright?" He suddenly asked. The three of them turned to see that the Saffron City Gym Leader was currently the color of a tomato, and was trying her best to look at the floor with utmost interest. She was failing. Agatha smiled.

"Ach, I don't blame her. Bruno and I don't normally venture off of our 'designated table' (whatever the hell THAT means) to sit with gym leaders. But we decided to have a seat next to you two for the evening." She said. Sabrina managed to speak.

"Wh-why did you choose u-us?" She asked. Agatha shrugged.

"Maybe it's because your Psychic mastery isn't too far off from my Ghost mastery, which gives us something to chat about. Maybe it's because Bruno can spot a martial artist of any decency from a mile away, and Mr. Phoenix here just screams 'martial artist of any decency.'" She said. At this, Bruno chimed in.

"Or maybe it's because we think you two make a good couple!" He barked a laugh, which entered a titter from Agatha. However, both Trodaire and Sabrina turned matching shades of red.

"Oh, um, we're, uh…we're not a couple." Trodaire said meekly.

"Yeah! We're, uh, just going as _friends._" Sabrina agreed. Trodaire quick shot a look at her, incredulous. Since when were they _friends?_ Agatha, in her many years of life and having been exposed to many things, watched this exchange with infinite amusement.

"Oh course, my dears, of course. Nothing more…" She sipped her tea with a bemused expression on her face. Looking for something else to talk about (as he didn't want his fellow man continually facing the brunt of Agatha's teasing), Bruno glanced around and frowned.

"Aw, Arceus. Is Lorelei still trying to butter up those Dragon Masters?" He asked in an exasperated tone. Without even looking over, Agatha nodded.

"Please, Bruno. She's been doing this ever since Clair became a certified gym leader five years ago and requested that the extended family be allowed passage to the event. You should not sound so surprised." She said. At this, Trodaire raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Sabrina and I were talking about that before you two showed up. What's the deal with that?" He asked. Agatha kept that curt little smile of hers as she spoke.

"Oh, as I'm sure you can see, Lorelei over there is a very pretty little thing. But then again, so is a painted vase and there isn't anything inside there either but I'm getting beside the point. When Clair, that fine lady right there…" She said this with a trace of disgust, and Trodaire and Sabrina looked over to see a woman with what appeared to be electric-blue hair and incredibly regal attire. She was wearing a cape and had a pair of long earrings that almost touched her shoulders. There was an icy feel to the air around her, and her ostentatious appearance clashed rather badly with the simpler, monk-like attire of the older Dragon Masters. Agatha let Trodaire and Sabrina get a good long look at her, and then continued.

"When Clair became a gym leader," She said. "Lorelei became as excited as a little schoolgirl, knowing that with another female gym leader (and one who trained Dragons, at that!) that she had someone else to really relate to. Unfortunately for her, Clair doesn't really have time for anyone that isn't a Dragon Master or is someone that she deems 'worthy.'"

"Which is to say, a Dragon Master." Bruno interjected. "So basically, Dragon Master is good. Anything else isn't enough."

"Which is a shame, because Lorelei has never met a group that she hasn't been able to charm her way into the good graces of. She's been going at it for a few years now, and she hasn't made any headway into them recognizing her as an honorary Dragon Master." Agatha said. Hearing this was something that made both Trodaire and Sabrina laugh.

"Seriously?" Sabrina asked. "That flake thinks she can be a Dragon Master?" Isn't that supposed to be hereditary?" She asked. Bruno shook his head.

"Not always. Well, yes that's the biggest thing but you can be an honorary inductee into their ranks as well. They look for power of Pokemon that have proven Dragon biology or simply recognition of greatness." He said. He shrugged. "Lorelei doesn't have any Pokemon that quite fit their mold, so she's going for option two. I wish she'd stop trying so hard. They've only given one person that honor in the centuries that the Dragon Masters have been in existence." He said. Trodaire blinked in surprise.

"Who got that honor?" He asked. There was a pause of reverential silence. Agatha pointed to the Dragon Master table.

"Do you see that chair there, that is next to Lance's chair and the High Dragon Master's Chair?" She asked. Trodaire and Sabrina looked. There was the High Dragon Master, sitting in laughably simple monk robes that belied the incredible knowledge he no doubt possessed. Lance's chair was currently empty, which was understandable given the fact that he was no doubt somewhere else preparing his remarks for the evening. That left the small and unassuming chair at the end of the table, and yet by the way the various Dragon Masters continued to glance back and forth amongst each other and at the chair, one would think that that chair was reserved for Arceus.

"Who is supposed to sit there?" Trodaire asked. Sabrina knew, even without the others telling her.

"The Boy from the Mountain." She said. Trodaire looked at her like she'd grown two heads.

"The boy from where now?" He asked. Agatha chimed in.

"She's referring to Lance's young friend, who spends his days training on Mount Silver, the most powerful and dangerous bit of land in the entire Kanto/Johto region, if not the entire world. He doesn't particularly strike you as a boy who thinks too highly of himself. He dresses in casual clothes, is unspeakably polite…and yet I've never seen a trainer and his team battle with the ferocity that that boy exhibited when he ripped through our order like we were tissue paper." She said. "Even Lance was battered into submission, though their matchup still remains the greatest battle I've ever seen in almost 70 years of life." She finished. Bruno nodded.

"He made me look like a mook in a white belt. So the Dragon Clan made him an honorary Dragon Master." Bruno said. "Yet every year, he has never made it to one of these events."

"Why not?" Trodaire asked. Agatha shrugged.

"Who can say? Some think he's deliberately spurning them, thinking that he is above and beyond all of their praises and awards. Some think that he's simply too busy, or that he's waiting for the right moment to bring down from his perch at the top of the world. Me personally? I think that he's rather shy, and doesn't want to make a great scene of entering, because we all know that that would create a media firestorm. And if there's one thing that he _hates_, it's undue attention. He always thought that it detracted from his team, who were in his opinion the true champions." She said. "All that we know is that for the past few years Lance has always reserved a space at the table for his friend to show, and it's never come to fruition." Agatha gave another shrug. "Not that it's taken as an offense. Lance understands where the boy is coming from: alone, shy, and without many people to talk to."

Before Trodaire could question Agatha on what she meant by this, there was a smattering of applause. Trodaire looked to see where their attention was being drawn to…and saw him. The man that he was hired to help Steven defeat.

Lance.

Lance was at the modest podium that they'd set up for the event, and though he was dressed in a similar manner as his cousin Clair (regal attire with a fancy-pants cape) he seemed slightly uncomfortable up there, as if there were a million things he'd rather be doing than giving a speech in front of the gym leaders of Kanto and Johto.

"Good evening." He said. He spoke with a remarkably medium voice. Trodaire had hoped that he would sound reedy or even comically baritone, but it would appear that Lance's voice was like that of most males approaching thirty. Kind of disappointingly normal, especially for the famed "Dragon Master" himself.

"I told Lorelei I didn't want to do this, and yet here I am." Lance said. There was an honest degree of discomfort behind his words, yet the room interpreted it as a light joke and chuckled. Lance offered a curt smile as if to assure the room that that was indeed the reason he had said that, and continued. "I'll keep it brief, seeing as how I'm sure you're all as hungry as I am. Firstly, I would like to thank the gym leaders of Kanto and Johto for their stellar work year in and year out. I just returned from the Champions' Meeting at Castelia City in Unova, and I am proud to say that you are all performing at a level above the rest of the chapters throughout the world."

This drew a round of applause, but Trodaire was more concerned with how Lance was treating all of this. He was almost mumbling into the microphone, and was tersely and quickly shuffling through his notes that he'd prepared for the speech. For the next minute or so, Lance went through the usual thank-you list of people and sponsors for helping put the night together, until he got to the moment that everyone had been waiting for: his thoughts on the World Tournament.

"Finally, I am sure that you are aware that in under two months I will be representing the Kanto Region in the World Tournament, and that my opponent has been announced as well. I want to let you know that I am ready for the challenge that is ahead of me, I am looking forward to defending the honor of the Indigo Plateau, and that I thank you for your continued and much-appreciated support. Thank you, and enjoy the rest of the evening." He skittered off of the stage amidst the applause, and thankfully took a seat next to the High Dragon Master at their table. Next to Trodaire, Sabrina rolled her eyes.

"Typical Lance. Can't wait to get out of the public eye when he's not battling." She said. Trodaire looked worried.

"That only means that as uncomfortable that he is up there, he is equally as comfortable on a battlefield. Steven's in for a fight." He added darkly. Sabrina was inclined to agree with him, when she saw someone walking towards them. Someone with regal attire, ostentatious earrings, electric blue hair…

_Oh…SHIT._

"Mind if I have a seat?" Clair asked, taking an empty seat and sitting across from Sabrina and Trodaire without even waiting for them or the two Kanto Elite Four members to give her their approval. She stared at Sabrina with a sickly-sweet smile, though her eyes were radiating contempt. "You're looking lovely tonight, Rina." She said. _You look like a cow, and your trailer trash date should be ashamed._

"Why thank you, Clair. I figured I'd go for the elegant look tonight." _See? I speak your language too, hag. If you're looking to start an argument, there are two senior-ranking Elite Four members here who can tell you to buzz off._

"It works for you." Clair said. Then she looked at Trodaire. "And who might you be?" She asked, though it wasn't so much an innocent question as much as it was a cat sizing up a mouse.

"Trodaire." Came the blunt reply. Sabrina smirked. Apparently this mouse had a few fangs to match the cat's. Clair blinked once.

"Trodaire? Doesn't sound like any normal name I've ever heard of. Where is it from?" She asked. Sabrina noticed Trodaire's eye twitch slightly, but then it was gone.

"It's from Orre. It's an Orrean name." He said. Clair's eyes widened. Sabrina didn't like the look of that.

"Oh…that makes sense. That would explain the tattoos." She said, oblivious to the dumbstruck expressions on Bruno and Agatha's faces. Sabrina was about to smack her, when to their surprise Trodaire spoke again.

"Why do you say that?" He asked. He had a pleasant tone, but then again a Jigglypuff has a "pleasant tone" as well that is incredibly dangerous. Clair continued.

"I mean, I've been watching you since you came in here and I have to say that I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite like you in the Indigo Plateau before. I figure you must be from one of the less-developed countries, given the tattoos on your _face _of all places." She said with a hint of spite. Sabrina was red-faced with rage at this point. Then Clair turned to her. "Rina, dear, this is so nice of you. Giving the boy a chance to see what the outside world looks like. What a Samaritan-like thing. Though given your track record, I guess anything is a success worth congratulating." She said.

"I'm not a charity case." Trodaire said icily. That was enough to get Clair to turn towards him, her falsely pleasant demeanor fading quickly.

"Excuse me?" She hissed. "I'm talking to Sabrina. So kindly wait your turn, _street rat._"

Trodaire looked like he was going to wring Clair's neck right then and there. Bruno placed a hand on his shoulder, while Agatha gave a stern admonishing to Clair for such insensitive language. Sabrina looked like she was going to cry. Clair remained indignant. She hadn't done anything _wrong_, she was just making _pleasant conversation_ and did you _really_ need to yell at her like that for doing a _nice _thing? She was a _nice person _and-

"You're a failure." The words were cold and merciless, and everyone at the table turned to look at Trodaire, who was staring bullet holes into Clair's face. The Dragon Master turned red.

"Why, you _little freak_, how DARE you talk to a Dragon Mast-" She was rudely cut off.

"Oh, give it a rest." Trodaire said. "You keep talking about how you're a Dragon Master and how we should bow down to your every whim, but I've noticed something. We're not at this event celebrating you now, are we? Oh yeah, that's right. We're celebrating your _cousin_, the guy that's been winning battles longer than you've been a part of this family." His eyes narrowed as Clair registered this insult. "Oh, didn't think that a street rat like me knew something like that, did you? Well, that's the thing about the Dragon Clan being so famous: they've willingly put up their family tree on the public domain for any schlub with a library card to look up. Yeah, your mother remarried into the Dragon Clan when you were three. You're not even related by blood to the Dragon Clan. Maybe that's why you're trying so hard. Maybe that's why you're always belittling people on the outside, and refusing to recognize that there is a problem with the way you treat other human beings. Maybe that's why you defend the sanctity of your little family with the fury of a rabid Houndoom: because you know deep down that _you don't belong anymore than a guy like me does._" He said, his voice never raising above a soft tone that couldn't be heard by any of the other groups. He stood up from the table, which earned few glances from the rest of the room. Most didn't really care. They all assumed that the Orrean had had enough of fancy get-togethers and that it was time to go back home to the desert.

"Oh, and by the way, I think I should let you know who I am, seeing as how you were too wrapped up in your own _bullshit_ to even ask. I'm Trodaire. Trodaire Phoenix. I run the Fight Club, the training dojo in Saffron City. If you're wondering why Steven Stone hasn't made the news lately with who he's training with that's League-Certified, that's because I'm the motherfucker that he's training with. And _I'm _the guy who's going to take an immense amount of pleasure from the look on your face when Steven's Steel Curtain grinds your cousin's beloved little Dragons into _**paste.**_" He finished. He turned to Bruno and Agatha. "It was an honor to meet the two of you." He walked out the door without another word. No one at any of the other tables noticed, save Misty and their group, as they were all too busy wrapped up in their own conversations. Perhaps that was for the best, dear readers, for at that moment Sabrina did something that she never would have believed she'd ever do: she followed him.

_**TRODAIRE**_

"_**TRODAIRE!**_" He heard her scream, as he kept walking past the marble Dragons in the courtyard. He sighed. Every fiber in his being wanted to keep running and leave all of that high-class snobbery behind, but then that little voice in his head whispered for him to stop and listen. So he did.

Good thing too, for Sabrina came running up to him, the tears barely being held back.

"Trodaire, Arceus, I'm so sorry…" She began. "I mean, I should have warned you that Clair was a rotten bitch and that this kind of event was nothing but a great big worship circle for Lance and that I never would have thought Bruno and Agatha would sit with us or that that rotten witch would make fun of you like that and oh _Arceus!_" She just started to cry. "This is the worst night ever." She sobbed. To her surprise, Trodaire did literally the last thing that she had ever expected: he hugged her.

"Wuh-what are you doing?" She asked. She could feel him shrug.

"Back home we tended to do things like this whenever someone was upset." He said. He smiled a little bit. "If you need to let out some frustration by throwing a punch or two, I promise you I can take the hits."

Sabrina obliged him. Three hard raps in the back, none of which Trodaire even responded to.

"Feeling better?" He asked sardonically, ignoring his smarting back. Sabrina sniffled, and nodded. Trodaire released the hug, and looked her in the eye.

"How are you feeling?" He asked. "She said some mean things to you too, you know." Sabrina shrugged.

"It'll get better. I mean, it hurts now, but I'll get over it." She said. Trodaire frowned.

"Does that happen a lot?" He asked. Sabrina sighed.

"Every now and then I get down, but don't worry it's not going to be a problem. I think I'd better go home though. I always leave these galas early and I'd hate to break my streak." She added drily. She started walking towards the exit and towards a taxi stop when Trodaire jogged up in front of her to get her to stop.

"I'll come back with you." He said. Sabrina raised an eyebrow.

"That's ok, I think I can manage." She began. Trodaire cut her off.

"Nuh uh. I'm not letting a pretty girl walk home by herself after dark. Even if you manage to find a cab." He said. To his surprise, Sabrina laughed. "What's so funny?" He asked. She smiled, and reached for the necklace that she was wearing. It was then that Trodaire noticed that there was a small Pokeball entrenched in the center brooch of the garment. Sabrina pressed the side of the ball, and it enlarged for ready use. There was a click of a button, a flash of light, and a small Pokemon was sitting in the middle of them. Sabrina smirked.

"How do you think I got home so early from dances in the past? I had my little Abra here help me out." She said. She looked down at the little Pokemon and spoke in a gentle voice that Trodaire had never heard from her before. "Take us home, sweetheart." She cooed.

At that moment, Trodaire felt a warm and fuzzy feeling in his gut, that soon spread to every facet of his body. There was a sensation of feeling like he was flying-

There was a flash, and they were gone.

Trodaire blinked, and saw that they were standing in front of the Saffron Gym. Trodaire smiled.

"Never thought that I'd be on the receiving end of an Abra's Teleport before." He said with a smile. He frowned. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you." He said. Sabrina shook her head.

"Don't be. Clair's a bitch. She deserved that. Anyway, I'll see you later Trodaire. Good night." She smiled, gave him a short hug and began to walk to the gym. Then, she turned and stopped. "Oh, one more thing, Trodaire. If you don't live up to those words about turning Lance's Pokemon into paste…well, I'm gonna be mad. Seriously mad. Good night." She winked, and then walked away, leaving behind a very contemplative young Orrean under a brilliantly starry Kanto sky.

A/N: Big chapter, no? What do you think? Leave a review!


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**TRODAIRE**_

_THWOCK. THWOCK-THWOCK. THWOCK._

He had to admit, in all honesty perhaps it wasn't the best idea to insult a Dragon Master. Illegitimate or not, Clair was still a member of that hallowed fraternity. But then again, she'd been insulting Sabrina as well as his heritage, so screw her.

That last bit was the one that made him stop to think. Since when did he care all that much about Sabrina's personal feelings? Not that he was a misogynist; he would've stood up for anyone's honor after the insulting that Clair had given her. But then again, whenever he tried to think about another girl he kept picturing Sabrina in that pitch-black dress, with those violet-blue eyes…

In times like this, when he needed to clear his head, Trodaire turned to that wooden dummy in the corner of the gym. He'd built the thing himself by hand after seeing a picture of one in an old magazine in Orre, and over the years it had seriously worn down from repetitive use. He'd replaced parts here and there, and had outright debated buying an entirely new one recently. But he couldn't. The thing, in a sense, had been through just as much as he had over the years. It was almost like a diary, the way he buried the day's fears and angst and anxiety into the worn wood with a flurry of strikes, chops and punches.

_THWOCK. THWOCK-THWOCK. THWOCK._

As he continued to go to work on the wooden dummy, the door to the Fight Club opened and in walked Paulie. He was carrying the morning's newspaper under one armpit, and a box of donuts in the other. Trodaire had long since told him that he tried to limit the number of sweets that he ate, to which Paulie gladly replied that that just left more for him. As the older man eased himself into an office chair, he glanced over at Trodaire.

"Yah never told me about the date last week, Troddie!" He shouted. Trodaire continued working on the dummy, but spoke back.

"Wasn't. a. date." He said in between strikes. "Just. Being. Nice."

"Of cours', Troddie." Paulie said with an amused grin forming on his lips. "So's I'm guessin' yeh ewre plannin' on sharin' it wit' the girls today?" He asked. Trodaire blinked once in confusion, momentarily stopping what he was doing.

"The girls?" He asked. "What are you talking abou-"

The door swung open, and in walked Sabrina, Misty, Janine, Whitney, Erika…as well as the rest of Misty's sisters.

Trodaire wondered if there was a cruel god whose sole purpose was to make his life miserable.

_**SABRINA**_

Once again, Trodaire looked like he had absolutely not prepared in the slightest for this self defense seminar. On one hand, she expected it. On the other, she was annoyed. How hard was it to deal with coming up with an hour's worth of material? Oh yeah, Trodaire was the kind of guy that actually spent time on practical ways to hurt people. Sabrina still felt sore from the last session.

"We brought extras." She said flatly. She noticed Trodaire frown slightly. Was it something she said? She hoped that it wasn't something that she said.

"And?" He asked. Before anyone could speak, Janine rudely stepped forward.

"Our last meeting was one that brought dishonor to my family. I wish to rectify this." She said. Trodaire shrugged.

"Ohkay…but I didn't really think that it was tha-" He was cut off.

"I challenge you to a one-on-one fight." Janine said. "I refuse to allow you to make a mockery of the ancient art of ninjutsu." She said with a snarl.

There was a long, awkward pause. Trodaire blinked once.

"I'm sorry, but there's something seriously wrong with that request." He said. Janine stiffened.

"What would that be? That you are unwilling to take my challenge?" She asked. Trodaire shook his head.

"No…it's just that I thought that I was teaching self-defense today. Not taking part in a fight to the death." He said. He looked desperately over at the other girls for support. To his horror, none was coming.

"Ooooh, that sounds so cool!" Daisy said. "That would, like, totally be better than actually, like, work."

"Like, yeah!" Violet and Lily said in creepy unison.

"I've always wanted to see two martial arts experts fight one another." Erika admitted. Whitney nodded eagerly.

With one last hope, Trodaire gave a pleading glance to Sabrina. She sighed.

"I'm inclined to agree with Trodaire. We did come here to learn self-defense…" She said. There was a groan of disappointment. Trodaire looked relieved, until Sabrina opened her mouth again. "…and what could be better than learning what would happen if attacked by a master of martial arts?" She gave an evil wink to Trodaire, who once again cursed the female half of the species. Janine removed her robe, revealing a full ninja uniform. She even pulled the hoodie on the back of her uniform top over until it covered her face, leaving just a slit for the eyes. Trodaire just blinked in stunned silence.

"You…were planning for this all day, weren't you?" He asked. She snarled.

"All week, weakling!" She hissed, before getting into a ready stance. Trodaire sighed, and removed his hoodie. He was wearing a plain white tee-shirt underneath, which Sabrina thought looked pretty symbolic to be facing a ninja in all-black. Sabrina became aware of a presence next to her. It was Paulie, who had ambled over with the carton of donuts.

"Better than daytime television, Troddie is!" He said.

With a yell, Janine made the first move. She threw a high kick intended to break Trodaire's jaw, but the Orrean had side-stepped the move and with the back side of his left hand swatted away her attacking leg. However, Janine followed this move with a series of punches aimed at the torso. Trodaire was completely on the defensive, swatting and knocking away her punches with a look of surprise and determination on his face. Sabrina didn't blame him: Janine was the second-greatest ninja in the world, second only to that of her uncle Koga. In a sense, Trodaire was fighting _the_ master of a martial art.

Now it was Trodaire's turn. After Janine's moves began to slow down, the Orrean threw a couple of…well, they weren't punches so much as they were strange strikes with the knife edge of his hands and palms. Janine's eyes visibly widened in confusion as she tried to determine which part of the arm was the best to block these strange assaults in order to minimize damage. Nothing was working, and through the way her eyes narrowed it was clear each block pained her greatly.

So it went for a minute, but to those watching in mesmerized silence it seemed to last an eternity. Finally, Trodaire and Janine both threw a punch at each other, only to catch it with their free hands. So they were locked in a stalemate, when suddenly Trodaire gave way.

"I concede." He said, panting heavily. "You're better than me."

Janine's eyes narrowed. "I have yet to fell you in combat!" She said. "As far as I am concerned, this battle is still ongoing!" Trodaire smiled, and Sabrina cringed.

"Oh, the only way to lose is to fall?" He asked. Without waiting for her to reply, he threw a withering roundhouse kick to the outside of her knee. When Janine dropped a knee to the ground in pain, Trodaire thrust his other foot forward firmly into her chest. Janine was sent sprawling onto the ground, her hooded cowl coming off in the confusion. Trodaire grinned. "I win!" He said giddily.

"You…you cheated!" Janine sputtered. "You waited until my guard was down and delivered a cheap attack! In a fair fight I would've had you bested easily!"

"Well, that's not much incentive for me to fight fair, now, is it?" Trodaire asked. Despite herself, Sabrina chuckled. The boy had a point. Janine, as a master ninja, should've known better than to assume that her opponent was going to fight fair. She didn't see Misty's triumphant smirk, either.

Trodaire ended the session shortly after that, stating that he was too tired to teach anything after such a worthy fight. Amidst a groan of disappointment (and the sensational sisters each giving him googly eyes…and their cell numbers), the girls filed out one by one. Well, Sabrina was the last one to do so, until right outside her gym door she was ambushed by Misty.

"You think that Trodaire's cute." It wasn't a question so much as it was a statement of fact. Sabrina turned positively scarlet.

"I do not!" She said indignantly. Misty rolled her eyes.

"As if. First, you start calling him by his name. Second, whenever you talk about him there's a bubbly air to you that you usually don't have unless you're spending the night at the Cerulean gym and it's really late at night and we've had a marathon of chick flicks. Third, ever since the gala you have not _shut up_ about how awesome Trodaire was in putting that wench Clair in her place. Finally, you are actively looking for ways to see him." Misty rattled off each factoid with damning precision and calculation, watching Sabrina literally shrink before her confident gaze. When the psychic spoke, her voice was positively tiny.

"Ok…maybe…" She said. She shrugged. "I don't know, Mist! He's nice and all, but…" She trailed off, so Misty finished for her.

"…But he's busy with Steven and his team so you don't know what he's like in a completely relaxed setting and you don't know if he's any different than the meatheads that used to be around the Fight Club." She said. She smiled. "Why don't you just ask him?"

"Ask him what?" Sabrina asked. Misty sighed.

"Ask him if…I dunno, he wants to watch your little battle gauntlet in three weeks!" She said exasperatedly.

Oh right, that.

Perhaps, dear readers, a little context is necessary. It was a customary practice, particularly in Kanto, for the gym leaders to hold what was known as a "Battle Gauntlet." These were usually televised (at least locally) events where the gym leader would call on their best and strongest Pokemon to face off against wave after wave of the gym trainers' Pokemon. The leader's Pokemon would get no rest or restoration. The trainers' Pokemon were allowed to be Revived or have status afflictions cured with a Full Heal. It ended when the Gym Leader's Pokemon was no longer able or willing to battle. Perhaps the most famous one in recent memory was the "Rumble on Victory Road," where Lance's Dragonite had knocked down 18 challengers trying to enter Victory Road from the Indigo Plateau side. What made this a special match (seeing as how 18 wasn't a particularly large number) was that the challengers were the other members of the Kanto and Johto Elite Four, and that they were using Max Revives instead of regular Revives to restore their teams.

So there was that. Something that Sabrina had completely forgotten about.

"Oh, um, yeah!" She said uncertainly. "That could work!"

Misty just rolled her eyes. "Just give a thought to it." She said. "Just know this: guys like Trodaire aren't gonna stay on the market forever. After all, my sisters…" she said this with a roll of her eyes. "…are looking to jump all over him."

She walked away, leaving behind a flustered Psychic Master.

_**STEVEN**_

Steven Stone was unaware of this strife that had occurred two days prior, nor would he have cared. For in this moment he was in the darkened Fight Club, watching a projector screen along with the rest of his team. In the front of the group, sitting down on the padded floor, Trodaire was working the remote as well as a laser pointer.

"January 2010, three years ago." Trodaire said. "Lance vs Crasher Wake of Unova, in an exhibition match with no international ranking on the line. This is Crasher Wake's Floatzel…" he highlighted the weasel-like Pokemon with the laser pointer "…versus Lance's Haxorus." He highlighted the shining gold Dragon.

"What happened in this fight?" Steven asked. Trodaire sighed.

"Nothing much." He admitted. "Haxorus battered the poor thing into submission with a series of Slashes." He paused the video footage. "However, there is something to take from this. Watch closely." He pressed a button that put the thing on slow-motion, right in the middle of a Slash that Floatzel managed to dodge. "Notice how off-balance Haxorus is after that last Slash?" He asked. Trodaire was right. In the midst of dealing a critical hit to Floatzel, there was a brief moment where Haxorus was lunging too far with a Slash and leaving its back exposed to its opponent. "Now, Floatzel can't capitalize on this opportunity because it's not strong enough to take one of those Claws to the face. But Armaldo can." He pointed to the stout Pokemon, which nodded in agreement. Trodaire was serious. "That is the moment that you need to grapple the thing, when it gives you its back. Pick Haxorus up and stun the world by suplexing its sorry Dragon hide to the ground."

There were a few grunts of agreement from the rest of Steven's team, while Armaldo was simply passive. In the years that Steven had been a trainer, he had never quite had a Pokemon like Armaldo before. The big guy was an incredibly stoic creature, never once betraying an emotion unless absolutely necessary. This was in stark contrast to the seemingly over caffeinated Excadrill or the boisterous Aggron. They were performers: Armaldo was a technician. Get in, do the job right, and go back to the Pokeball for the rest of the time. That was the mindset of his former-fossilized partner. Steven had come to appreciate that, but at the same time enjoyed watching Trodaire attempt to get the thing to maybe crack a smile every now and then.

After film session was done for the day (and a short session of Armaldo brushing up on suplexes), Steven had recalled his team to their Pokeballs. As Trodaire prepared to close the gym for the night, Steven cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Trodaire, you got a minute?" He asked. The Orrean nodded.

"For you or Cynthia, anytime." He said. Steven blushed a little bit.

"Funny you should mention her…" He said. He sighed. "Look, this is kind of hard to talk about, because I'm not good at this sort of thing…" Trodaire raised an amused eyebrow.

"You weren't thinking of leaving her for me, were you? Cuz buddy you ain't my type." He snickered. Steven laughed.

"Arceus, no. How would that ever be possible? I love her!" He said. "Which is what I wanted to talk to you about…" He fished into his pocket and pulled out a small box. "What do you think of this?" He asked. He flicked the box open, and Trodaire just stared.

It was a ring.

No, that wasn't nearly enough to do it justice. It was a gem, sparkling silver in the middle of the small band of gold that some artisan had no doubt poured a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into. Trodaire just blinked dumbly.

"Is that what I think it is?" He asked. Steven nodded.

"I just don't know when the right time is." He said. "I mean, she and I have been together for almost three years now and it's gotten to the point where we tell each other that we love each other and we mean it and I think no I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with her and-" He stopped. "You don't need to be bored by all of that. What I do want your advice on is…when do you think I should ask her?" He said uncertainly. Trodaire just stared at him again. Here was Steven Stone, a guy Trodaire thought was slick as an oil spill and smoother than a Luvdisc's scale…stumbling over the prospect of asking a very important question to the woman that he clearly loved. Which would've been great if Trodaire knew even the first thing about love. Which he made it clear to Steven.

"Steven, I'm no lovers boy." He said. "I've never had a relationship like that." He sighed, pausing for the right words. "And yet for some reason I find myself saying that…when the time is right, you're gonna know." He said, with a small shrug. "I know it sounds like a cop-out, but that's the best I can give."

Steven nodded.

"You might not realize it, but I appreciate your opinion a lot more than you think." He said. He then smirked. "You've never been in a relationship? Why not literally ask the girl next door?" He asked. Trodaire shook his head.

"She's not interested in me. Besides that, she's evil. She made me go up against the second greatest ninja alive today." He said. Steven winced.

"How'd that go?" He asked. Trodaire shrugged.

"Eh, alright. Fought to a draw. Gave her a little delayed present, though." He said. Steven raised an eyebrow.

"What 'delayed present'?" He asked. Trodaire grinned.

"It's a late-forming bruise by her ribs. The next time she gives a haughty 'I'm better than you' laugh, she's gonna feel it." He said.

It was at that moment that, if one had complete silence outside and impeccable hearing, there came the faintest whisper of an echo of a cry of acute pain and rage in the general direction of Fuchsia City's gym. But Trodaire and Steven either didn't hear this or simply chose not to acknowledge it. Most likely the former. Steven shrugged.

"Congrats, I guess. Anyway, I'd better get back to the hotel. Cynthia is waiting for me, no doubt. Now, don't tell her anything about this, okay? I want to keep it a surprise." He walked away, wishing Paulie and Trodaire good night. Trodaire watched him leave, and then thought about something that he had said. _Why not literally ask the girl next door?_

He wasn't certain. And in times that he wasn't certain, he turned to the wooden dummy.

_THWOCK. THWOCK-THWOCK. THWOCK._

A/N: Ooh, the secondary plots thicken! Let me know what you think! See you all next time.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**TRODAIRE**_

Trodaire was right. It was an incredibly stupid idea to anger a Dragon Master. Clair was seething about that slight for days after the fact, thinking of the right way to get back at that little rat who dared to insult her and imply that her Dragon heritage was somehow invalid because her mother had married into the Clan. So one day, during an interview for a completely unrelated topic, she casually let slip that Steven Stone was seeking training against her cousin Lance with some unknown scrub from Orre…

Which is how Trodaire found himself in the same room with Steven Stone and that intrepid reporter Gabby of Hoenn TV and her trusty cameraman Ty.

"This is quite the place!" Gabby said, her bubbly personality a surprising contrast from what Trodaire expected. He had assumed that the smiles-and-grins attitude reporters developed was all an act, and once the camera wasn't rolling they were mean-spirited. So far, Gabby was disproving that notion wholeheartedly. Even Ty seemed like an ok guy, if only a little bit of a parrot to Gabby's ideas.

"Thanks." Trodaire said quietly. Hate was not strong enough a word. Trodaire _loathed_ self-promotion. Steven didn't seem to mind that much, however.

"What were you planning on doing for the special, Gabby?" He asked. He was familiar with her methods: absolutely dedicated reporting, with perhaps her only flaw being a little bit of a flair for the dramatic. Also, she tended to let her subjects say more or less whatever they wanted, so it was entirely possible that she could be completely and totally trolled if one so chose.

"Nothing serious!" She said. "Just a short interview with the challenger, and then with his trainer, and then maybe some footage of you training!" She checked her microphone. "This is going to be so exciting!"

It was strange, but as Trodaire continued to privately grumble about this inconvenience, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

_**SABRINA**_

Sabrina was staring out her window in her private office, watching the news van that was parked in front of the Fight Club, drinking a green tea to help her growing headache, and privately sympathizing with Trodaire. _I hate the press, too._

_ "Madame Sabrina, what have we discussed about reading others' minds and feelings?_"

"Oh, be quiet Alakazam." Sabrina said. "Hatred for the paparazzi is practically a thought that belongs in the public domain."

_**STEVEN**_

Steven, on the other hand, did not mind in the slightest. He'd dealt with Gabby before in the past. This was going to be a piece of cake. It helped that Gabby (off the record) wanted him to win, and wasn't going to ask him deliberately condescending questions. Not like that one hack A.S. Holman, who was frequently and deliberately accused of reporting with an agenda, and an agenda that led to him getting punched in the face very often.

Gabby wrapped her arm around Steven's waist to bring him closer to her so that they both fit in the camera, and squinted into the light.

"Ty, bring the flash down, will you?" She asked. Steven squirmed a little bit. He didn't like the fact that she was being so touchy-feely, but knew that Ty was going with a rather small camera lens for this interview. Gabby knew a thing or two about presentation, and stated that if they were in a quiet and dingy gym they should have a camera that reflected that atmosphere. Steven had noticed Trodaire bristle at her calling his gym "dingy," but hadn't said anything. Steven had shushed him with a silent stare that she hadn't meant it that way.

When the glare from the camera light went down, Gabby began to speak.

"Hello everyone, and welcome to another edition of Trainer Highlight! I'm your host Gabby, and with me is one of our favorite trainers in the world: Hoenn's own Steven Stone!" She said excitedly. Without missing a beat, Steven immediately looked to the camera and smiled a little grin.

"It's always great to be profiled by you guys, Gabby." He said. From off-camera, Trodaire watched this display with a combination of amusement and genuine impressment. Steven was buttery smooth in front of a camera. It was clear that, if nothing else, he had Lance's ass kicked when it came to interacting in front of the public.

"Steven, we're here in a rather interesting place." Gabby continued. "Normally for a battle of this magnitude, we'd expect you to be training with one of the Frontier Brains in the Hoenn Chapter of the Battle Frontier, but instead we're all the way here in Saffron City in a little place called The Fight Club. I like the name and feel of the place myself, but why here of all places?" She asked. Trodaire could tell that part of her delivery was for the showing, but he was pleased to detect a genuine level of curiosity underneath her probing. The woman was seriously interested in her subjects.

"Well, that's part of the reason that I decided to choose here." Steven said. "I suppose that I could train with Brandon, but his Pokemon don't really simulate the feel of facing Dragons, and that is something that he freely admits. Also, I will confess to a feeling of cavalier attitude towards this event." He said.

"What do you mean by that?" Gabby asked, clearly detecting a juicy quote for a sound bite to use in the future. To her delight (and Trodaire's confident approval), he did not disappoint.

"Well, let's be honest here." Steven said. "Nobody believes that I can beat Lance. In fact, I've heard from some sources that I won't even knock out one of his team in the battle. If I were in League-sanctioned places training, no doubt the press would be hounding me to the point of not being able to effectively train. Because Trodaire's place is new and off the grid (in a manner of speaking), I can get a lot more work done."

*Translation: _So basically, what I'm saying is I am actually doing work in order to kick Lance's ass. I'm not about to be a doormat.*_

"What's your reaction to Lance's cousin, the respected Dragon Master Clair, commenting that you won't be able to land a single hit on one of Lance's own?" Gabby asked.

"Well, Clair has always been proud of her Dragon heritage and the success that Lance has brought the Clan. Hopefully I prove her wrong, otherwise we're all in for a great big let-down." Steven deftly replied.

*Translation: _I can steamroll that dumb broad's team in a heartbeat, and she knows it. So naturally, she hides behind her much more accomplished relative.*_

"Last question, Steven. What can you tell me about your coach Trodaire and his training methods?" Gabby asked. Steven smirked.

"Trodaire is a creative guy, energetic like a sparkplug, and my team enjoys working with him. We're looking to put together a great showing against Lance." He said.

*Translation: _I am not that stupid that I'm going to give away on live television what I'm planning to do to Lance's team, lest the guy happens to be watching and decides to game plan a counter. So here's a stream of clichés for your effort, Gabby._*

"Thank you for your time, Steven!" Gabby said brightly. She then turned to the camera. "And tune in for the big match between Steven Stone and the 'Steel Curtain' and the Legendary Lance. See you then!" She finished. The camera shut off. She turned to Steven and beamed. "It's so easy interviewing you, Steven. You always require just one take on each and every question. And don't think I was born yesterday: I know that last answer was a steaming pile of cliché designed to deny Lance a free shot at your Pokemon." She winked, and then sighed. "If only he was as congenial as you were in front of the camera." She said. Steven raised an eyebrow.

"I take it your interview with him hasn't materialized yet?" He asked. She shook her head.

"He's famously camera-shy. Remember that debacle when Mary from Pokemon Radio tried interviewing him after his loss to that kid friend of his all those years ago?" She asked. Steven's grin widened.

"I remember all right. The other champions still needle him for that. A chance to talk to Professor Oak and he disappears into the Indigo Plateau like a scared Bonsly." He shook his head. "Arceus, he's a good fighter though." Gabby nodded in agreement. With that, she and Ty disappeared through the front door. As soon as they left, Steven spoke again. "You know, it would probably be better for your business if you got in front of the camera every now and then, Trodaire."

"I'm running a gym, not an entertainment center." Trodaire fired back. He was busy rewiring the PSI counter machine as Aggron had broken the damned thing yet again. Paulie had taught him how to do it himself, so that the old man didn't have to keep dragging heavy electrical equipment into the gym to do it himself. "If people want to come to the gym, they'll come through your little endorsement of me in that TV spot of yours." He flipped up the protective mask he was wearing to guard against sparks and flashed a thumbs up. "Nice promo, by the way." Steven smiled with a small sigh.

"You're welcome. Now are you finished with that thing yet?" He asked. Trodaire flipped back on the mask and shook his head. He looked like a riot policeman with the thing, and Steven was trying not to mock how ridiculous it looked on him without the required police uniform to go with.

"'Fraid not. This baby takes time to cool down, even moreso when big guy over there tries to throw in a one-two combo on it." He said. From across the room, Aggron tried its best not to look guilty. It was failing. Badly.

"Fine." Steven sighed. "I guess we're gonna have to wait another day on punch readings, huh?" He asked. Trodaire ripped off the mask and nodded.

"Yeah. I've done all I can for one day." Trodaire admitted. "So we're gonna do something different today." He said. Steven raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? What's that?" He asked. Trodaire smirked.

"Got a pair of Pokemon that can fly?" He asked.

_**TRODAIRE**_

In hindsight, perhaps asking if Steven had a Flying Pokemon was a dumb idea. For now Trodaire was desperately grasping onto the back of a rather ornery Skarmory, whose sleek steel frame was unaccustomed to carrying someone that wasn't its master Steven. Speaking of which, the Steel master himself was sitting Indian-style on top of Metagross, which was currently using what Steven described as a complex relationship between its magnetic body and the electromagnetic spectrum in the atmosphere, or some stupid baloney like that because Trodaire had stopped listening halfway through. Besides, where they were stopping by, they weren't going to be worrying about silly things like electromagnetic spectrums or legitimate lessons on the laws of physics.

"Take us down here." Trodaire said to the Skarmory, indicating a rock quarry below them. Skarmory obliged, veering down into the area in question. Curious, Steven told Metagross to follow Trodaire's descent. After a minute of so, they were safely on the ground in the basin of the rock quarry. Steven raised an eyebrow.

"Why are we here, of all places?" He asked. Trodaire smiled.

"I figured we could do a special little practice today. Steven, how many Revives and Max Revives do you have?" He asked. The Steel master shrugged.

"Too many to be carrying around in one sitting. Why do you ask?" He said. As if to answer his question, there was an explosion of rock. A small boulder had been thrown in their general direction, and had shattered against the ground with a loud sound akin to gunfire. Steven hastily told Metagross to conjure a Protect field, and thus the group was presently safe from the flying debris coming from very annoyed Rock types whose daily routine had been disturbed by these humans and their _Steel_ types.

"Here's the plan!" Trodaire shouted as another rock smashed against the protective wall. "These Graveller don't really hit terribly hard, but they'll make great cannon fodder for your three guys! Send out Aggron, Armaldo, and Excadrill and see how many of them we can take down before we have to make a run for it!" He said giddily. Steven looked at him like he was insane.

"Are you insane?" He asked pointedly. "What does that have to do with training against Lance?" He asked. Trodaire grinned.

"It has to do with endurance! Do they rest at throwing their 34th Graveller into the far rock wall, or do they dig down deep to find the inner strength to punch a nearby Geodude into space? That's what we're finding out today!" Steven had to admit, Trodaire was all kinds of crazy. But then again, he certainly wasn't getting training this risky from anything League-sanctioned. So maybe this was for the best. With a sigh, he sent out the three Pokemon in question, gave them their orders, and sat back and watched them go to work.

True to form, Aggron used its fists primarily. It would punch Rock Throws out of the air, each rock disappearing in a cloud of dust and shattered fragments. Whenever a Graveller got too close in an effort to use Body Slam (Gravellers were never pegged for their brains when fighting), Aggron would wind up and deliver a punch that quite simply sent them flying into the far walls of the rock quarry. And yet none of the Rock types in the area saw this as a sign that maybe the big Steel dinosaur-like creature should be avoided. Again, Rock types were never trained because they wowed in the critical thinking department.

Then again, the other two weren't much of a better option. Recognizing that they worked better together, Excadrill and Armaldo teamed up when dealing with the wild Pokemon. Excadrill would toss the heavier Pokemon Armaldo's way, who would take turns Power-bombing, choke-slamming, and suplexing them several feet into the ground. From their safe point on a higher plateau, Steven, Trodaire, and Metagross watched the carnage below them with rapt enjoyment. It was clearly obvious that the three Steel types on the ground below them were having the time of their lives as well.

"This is insane!" Steven shouted as Aggron punted a Geodude into a nearby rock formation with the force one reserves for a seventy-yard field goal attempt. "I've never seen them moving so quickly!" He said. Trodaire grinned.

"That's what all of those weighted ankle exercises were for! Moments exactly like this!" He chuckled. He then frowned. "Say, is it just me or do you feel an earthquake?" He asked. Steven frowned as well.

"I'm feeling it too. But-" Then his eyes widened in horror. "Trodaire, that's no earthquake! It's a-"

But it was too late. The ground began to splinter and crack beneath the feet of the three Steel types below, and they all scrambled to safer and sturdier ground as they watched whatever it was that was causing such seismic activity. There was a terrible noise, like that of a monster's roar mixed with grinding metal. As the massive beast rose from the ground like a demon from hell, Steven finished his panicked shout.

"_**STEELIX!"**_

_**STEVEN**_

He had been a master of Steel types for just about his entire life, and Steven considered himself a powerful trainer. Just about every one of his Pokemon were Pokemon that only an expert trainer should even try to master, and the Pokemon League more or less considered him their leading expert on the Steel type.

But there was one Steel type that gave the young heir of Devon Corp nightmares, and it was staring him directly in the face with hate-filled eyes.

Picture, dear readers, a king cobra that was thirty feet long. Now imagine this king cobra has the width to its body of a school bus, and is coated in a skin that is completely metallic and armored. Postulate that this creature is firmly capable of tunneling past or even through the earth's core with nary a scratch to it (except perhaps a mild tanning). Assume that this creature constantly has a look of murder in its eyes, and that it is aggressive and territorial and extremely quick-tempered. Oh, and it can flatten a building to a pancake with one good swipe of its tail. And it's ornery because its beauty sleep was interrupted.

Now you've got a Steelix.

That was precisely the creature that had been rudely awoken from its nap by the three Pokemon brawling above its home, and now it was intending to dish out some revenge.

"What the hell is that?" Trodaire yelled in shock. It occurred to Steven that perhaps he had never seen a Steelix before, considering Orre is a dry place and doesn't have too many caves. He gulped.

"A Steelix. Hopefully this thing is immature, and it's a male." He said calmly. Trodaire raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" Trodaire asked. Steven sighed in defeat.

"Males are slower and less territorial. Also, females won't stop pursuing their prey until they're dead or it's knocked out." He finished. Trodaire raised his eyebrows in understanding.

"Oh…" He said. Then he smiled like a little kid. "Let's knock it the hell out." Steven turned to him in shock.

"You've lost your mind. No way you can knock out a Steelix! Slow it down, perhaps. Annoy or irritate it, most definitely. But we are not capable of knocking it out." He said. Trodaire looked pouty.

"How do you know until you've tried?" He asked. Steven had to admit that he had a point. They were distracted by a roar. Steelix had swung its tail like a whip, and while Aggron was able to duck out of the way Excadrill and Armaldo weren't so lucky. They were sent flying into the protective shield that Metagross was still casting, the force of which knocked them both out. That just left one Pokemon left against an infuriated Steelix.

"Oh lovely. It's a fully matured female." Steven deadpanned. "Just exactly what I was hoping it _wasn't._" He sighed. "What do we do?" Trodaire shrugged.

"Leave it up to Aggron. You know how hard it punches." He said. Steven looked at Trodaire, then to Aggron, and then to the Steelix, which was raising its head up for what appeared to be a Skull Bash. In that moment, Steven threw caution to the wind.

"**AGGRON! USE MEGA PUNCH, AND HIT IT RIGHT IN THE FACE!" **He shouted.

Aggron turned to face its master, nodded subtly, and then turned and faced the demon looming over it. The Steelix was at least four times the size of Aggron, perhaps even more. It was so high up it threatened to block Aggron's view of the sun. But the Steel Pokemon did not flinch. It had an order, and it was expecting to follow that order to the letter. It just had to wait for the right timing…

There was a metallic roar, and Steelix lunged for Aggron, intending to bury it under almost one thousand pounds of steel. Aggron planted its feet, curled its left hand fingers into a fist, and then with an equally loud roar threw the second greatest punch of its life.

If it was possible to hit something hard enough to create a sonic boom, Aggron had nearly done it. Steven and Trodaire watched in awe as the Steelix appeared to crumple over itself from the force of the punch it had taken, and topple head over heels (figuratively speaking) over the Aggron that continued to roar in defiance. There was an ear-splitting banging noise as the Steelix crashed to the ground, completely out cold. Only then did Aggron release the punch, and with an exhausted sigh collapse to its knees. Once the dust settled, the only thing still conscious in that ring of carnage (amongst the countless knocked out Geodude and Graveller and one big Steelix), only Aggron remained. There was a moment of silence. Trodaire turned to Steven.

"I think Aggron just won our inaugural Rock Quarry Gauntlet." He said.

A/N: Want to know exactly what Aggron's punch looked like? If you've seen the "I'm always angry" scene from _The Avengers_, you'll know what I mean. Thanks for reading and see you next time!


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**SABRINA**_

So another week passed, and she had done exactly jack squat concerning Trodaire Phoenix. Misty kept bugging her to ask him every time that they video-chatted (which was every day, for those keeping track), and each and every time Sabrina found a way to change the subject. And each and every time she did that, Misty would chide the Psychic type master for being unable to ask a guy that had shown absolutely no signs of intimidation if he wanted to watch her Alakazam maul the living daylights out of wave after wave of Pokemon. Sabrina wanted to tell Misty that she'd seen Trodaire when he was truly angry and that that quite honestly terrified her, but knew that Misty would tell her to seek psychiatric help from Erika if it was that much of a problem. And the thought of a _psychic_ needing _psychiatric help _was a thought simply too ridiculous for Sabrina to bear.

Thus, two days after a successful day of battering all challengers that dared to grab the Saffron City Badge from her, Sabrina ambushed Trodaire outside of the Fight Club. Again.

"Gah!" The Orrean shouted as he turned around from locking the front door to see Sabrina leaning on the fence just in front of the building and roughly two feet from his face. "Someone should put a bell on you…" he muttered. Sabrina just rolled her eyes.

"Mr. Phoenix, what is your schedule this coming Friday?" She asked. Trodaire stared up at the sky as he tried to recall.

"Uh…I got…nothing. Yeah, I got nothing. Why do you ask?" He said. Sabrina shrugged.

"After having put you through a gauntlet of me watching everything that you've been doing here, I figured it was only nice to invite you to see the Saffron Gauntlet." Sabrina said softly. Trodaire raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, I was just planning on watching it on TV already, Sabrina." He said, so clueless that it was a wonder Sabrina didn't try to punch him. Instead, she sighed and waited for him to process what she had just said to him. "OH." He said as he realized what he was being offered. "You're letting little old me in on that very intimate setting while watching you destroy your gym trainers for little more than your own amusement?" He asked with a grin.

"No. I am inviting you because I think you would enjoy the experience." Sabrina said, quite honestly. Trodaire nodded.

"To be honest, I've never seen a Psychic type battle before…" Trodaire said. He smiled. "Alright, I'm in. When do I need to be there?" He asked. Sabrina smirked slightly at his acceptance, before putting her cold façade back on.

"The taping is at 6 P.M., but I will be beginning warm-ups at 5:45 P.M. You are more than welcome to show up as early as 4, when Alakazam and I go through preliminary exercises. Oh, and before I forget, there is a dress code." She said. Trodaire raised an confused eyebrow.

"A dress code?" He asked. Sabrina nodded.

"You need to dress like a Psychic." She said.

There was a pause.

"If you don't mind me asking," Trodaire said after a moment of thinking. "What the hell does 'dress like a Psychic' mean?" He asked. Sabrina sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Wear a _hakama,_ please. White top, black bottom." She said. Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Do you have one of those?" She asked. To her surprise, he nodded.

"I'll have one. And I'll see you then." He said with a smile. He walked away from her towards Paulie and Betties' house, when she called after him.

"Oh, and Mr. Phoenix? There is a…gathering after the event, if you would be interested in joining us." She said. Trodaire looked at her silently, smirked and gave a small little nod to indicate he would, and then walked off. Sabrina felt like there was a large weight that was off of her chest, even though she did not know why it was there in the first place.

When she returned to her private quarters that evening, to her incredible surprise Alakazam was not floating in the air but rather on the ground. Stretching its arms and legs. As in, physically moving.

"What are you doing?" She asked incredulously.

"_Planning contingencies._" The Pokemon replied sagely. "_Mistress Cecilia's Kadabra is a potent threat when it comes to typical psychic attacks. However, I wager a good right cross with one of my Kitchen Fu spoons might be helpful."_ Sabrina just shook her head.

"You've been letting Trodaire influence you far too much, old friend." She said. Alakazam snorted. It was truly a humorous thing to hear the Psychic type actually make a noise that was not telekinetically generated.

"_Please, My Lady. It is not the end of the world for me to implement new things in an effort to stay on top. And while we are on the subject of Master Trodaire, I find it rather humorous that you are critiquing __**my**__ relationship with Master Trodaire when it is in fact you who have invited him to our little Gauntlet this Friday."_ It said. Sabrina blushed.

"That's different." She said lamely. Alakazam raised an eyebrow.

"_Indeed._" Alakazam said in a tone implying he knew more about something than he would let on. It was moments like these that Sabrina's star Pokemon (and closest confidant) could really drive her crazy.

_**TRODAIRE**_

After their little event in the quarry a few days ago, it was safe to say that training with the Steel-types were much more cautious. As enjoyable as it had been for them all to punt Rock types into the canyon walls and witness Aggron flatten a Steelix single-handedly, the next few weeks were about developing endurance. Trainers who were up early in the morning were witness to a strange sight as a pair of human males were leading an Aggron, Excadrill, and Armaldo in jogs and sprints and other cardio activities around the Saffron Gym and the Fight Club for extended periods of time.

However, there was one thing that they were really aiming for: not getting hurt. For in two weeks was the first major hurdle concerning the World Tournament: passing the physical examination.

Perhaps, dear readers, some explanation is in order. The World Pokemon Health Organization, or WPHO for short, was the international conglomerate that ran all Pokemon Centers worldwide. In addition to providing cost-free healthcare for trainers on the road, as well as places to stay for travellers, the WPHO was also responsible for regulating the safety conditions of League-Sanctioned battles. There was a marked difference between a run of the mill street battle and an event that was going to be watched by millions of fan both in the stadium and on television or radio: the League-Sanctioned event needed to have some degree of order. Pokemon were independently assessed by highly trained (and most importantly unbiased) health professionals from the WPHO to make sure that not only were they in peak physical condition, but that they were in a match-up that could be deemed "fair." Admittedly, there was room for negotiation between trainers as to what constituted as a "fair" match-up. But at the very least, there would be nothing as ludicrously dangerous as a young Vulpix being matched up against a fully-grown Onix.

Trodaire had been completely unaware that such physicals existed.

"Seriously? You've never heard of this stuff?" Steven had asked him during a break in the action. Both men were sweating just as much as the Pokemon they were with, as the two of them had been leading the trio of Pokemon through everything. Trodaire shrugged.

"I'm from Orre, remember? We're a little behind the times when it comes to making sure that official match-ups are as safe as possible for the fighters." He said. There was a trace of a pained expression in Trodaire's eye, almost as if he was remembering something when he mentioned this. But Steven knew that if he asked now, Trodaire was just going to clam up. So he said nothing.

"Well, do you think that any of the match-ups are going to be deemed unacceptable by the WPHO?" Steven asked. Trodaire shrugged.

"I don't think so." He said. "Excadrill versus Salamence might be a bit of stretch, but I don't see any problems with the other two battles." He sighed. "That's of course assuming that Aggron doesn't get smashed by Dragonite." He said quietly, taking care not to let the Steel beast hear him. Steven raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, you do realize how hard we've been pushing him, right? I bet you if he wanted to he could kill something with a finger flick." Steven protested. Trodaire shook his head.

"Maybe you or me, but not a Dragon." Trodaire said gravely. "Have you ever fought a Dragon before, Steven?" He asked.

"Captain Drake from the Hoenn Elite Four." Steven replied. "Admittedly, not much though." He said. This was interesting to Trodaire, who raised an eyebrow.

"That so? How'd the fight go?" He asked.

"Well, I won, but Aggron nearly broke its hands punching Shelgon's skin-oh." Steven said, realizing. "Are Dragonites' skins harder than that?" He asked. Trodaire shrugged.

"It's not so much that Dragonite's skin is thicker than a Shelgon's than it is a case of _Lance's _Dragonite having hard skin. That thing is a walking tank. It's famous for no-selling attacks from incredibly dangerous opponents." Trodaire said. Steven looked thoughtful.

"So we're just hoping for the best, then?" He asked. Trodaire nodded.

"At the end of the day, Steven, we're going to be looking at a war. The WPHO will be really working overtime making sure nothing is a lasting injury for either side." He said.

This brought a long and melancholy silence.

_**SABRINA **_

__The Gym Leader for Saffron City, however, was not worrying about any of this. She was busy dealing with setting up her Gauntlet. It was the day of the event, two hours before the camera was to start rolling, and Trodaire was nowhere to be found. This upset Sabrina more than she would care to admit. She'd spent a lot of time planning what she was going to say and what she was going to do when he arrived, and he wasn't even there yet. What a load of garbage and a waste. She was so busy wallowing in her own self-pity, that she failed to see Trodaire walk through the front door and didn't notice him until Alakazam got her attention.

"_Madam Sabrina, Master Trodaire is here._" It said calmly. Sabrina whirled around, fully intending to give him an earful-

-Only to stop and be taken aback at how he looked.

Trodaire had found himself a _hakama_ alright. It was white on the top, and black on the bottom, just as she requested. He'd also gotten a haircut, bringing his once-baggy locks down to a military-style crew cut. He looked…like a psychic. It was impossible for Sabrina to believe it, but he looked like he could start practicing in the Saffron Gym and no one would bat an eye.

That is, until he opened his mouth and began to speak.

"Wow. This is a lot different than the Fight Club," Trodaire admitted. "All glass. Steel. Chrome. Very fancy-pants." He said. Sabrina rolled her eyes.

"I see you managed to secure appropriate fashion," she said. She herself was wearing a _hakama_ that was more like one of the kimonos that Erika wore all the time in her gym, minus the frilly designs on it. She then raised an eyebrow. "Though I have to question where you found it on such short notice."

Trodaire shrugged. "Oh, I got it from Bruno."

If there was a record playing somewhere, this would've been the time where the needle abruptly came to a scratching halt. Sabrina felt her eye twitch. Even Alakazam's eyes widened minutely.

"You…borrowed that from one of the Kanto-Johto Elite Four members?" She asked in a harsh whisper. Trodaire nodded.

"Yeah! I called the League number and asked to speak to him. I think I was on hold for like an hour or two, but it was totally worth it! He remembered me, got me the _hakama_, and then invited me to check out some of his training at the Plateau in a few months when he gets back from travelling to Sinnoh." He said, completely oblivious to Sabrina's dumbfounded expression. Alakazam smirked.

"_It would appear, Master Trodaire, that your audacity knows no bounds._" It said mirthfully, projecting into the young man's mind. Trodaire's eyes widened.

"Whoa…" He said. "Is that your Alakazam speaking to me?" He asked. When the Pokemon nodded, he smiled even wider. "That is so cool, man!" He said, like a kid getting to peek at Christmas presents early. Sabrina sighed. She thought that he had been a rather stoic individual, but face him with something new and strange and he was like a newborn Growlithe, fascinated with the most inane of things…

What seemed to be worse was the fact that Alakazam was enjoying the company of Trodaire's infectious enthusiasm.

"Aren't we supposed to be training?" Sabrina asked testily. Alakazam slouched its shoulders, and floated over towards her. Trodaire took a seat in the corner of the room and began to watch.

_**TRODAIRE**_

It was…trippy. Sabrina and Alakazam were doing what looked like interpretive dance, kind of like Tai Chi, except instead of just dancing the room was clearly feeling some extra energy in the air. It had to be their psychic energy. It just had to be. In fact, as Trodaire watched, he noticed in shock that the edges of the room…were blurring. It was like the laws of reality were being thrown out the window and being told not to come back until they had learned to take some responsibility for their lives.

Then, as soon as it had begun, it was over. Sabrina and Alakazam were standing across the room from each other, facing one another in a very zen-looking pose. The blurring of reality had stopped, and things were allowed to return to normal. The ancient clock in the corner of the room chimed six times, and Trodaire blinked in shock. It was already six o clock? Things had gone that fast?

But there was the cameraman and his crew, already set up and ready to go. There were the other psychic trainers, all sitting around the edges of the room similar to how he was. And each of them had called forth a psychic Pokemon. There were Kadabras, Hypnos, Drowsees, Kirlias…It made Trodaire feel uncomfortable, especially considering that he was a Fighting type at heart and that the psychics in the room had felt that for sure and were making him as uncomfortable as possible.

Sabrina stood off to the side, and took an indian-style sitting position on the carpet. Alakazam stood in the center of the room, its eyes closed in a deep meditative trance. One of the psychics made a noise like clearing a throat, and a Kirlia bounded forward to the middle of the room. Sabrina spoke.

"It is six o clock. The Gauntlet has begun." She said coldly. There was no emotion in her voice, and Trodaire now knew why she was consistently voted "Scariest Gym Leader" in Battle Magazines.

The Kirlia gave a cry, and pirouetted towards Alakazam. It threw its arms towards Alakazam, and a rainbow beam of energy radiated towards the Gym Leader's Pokemon. But then Alakazam opened its eyes. They were shining with an unearthly power. Throwing its arms to the left, Alakazam caught the psychic blast, redirecting the Psybeam in midair, and then sent it right back at Kirlia. The inexperienced Pokemon was sent spinning off the mat, and consequentially out of the camera frame. As its trainer began to heal it, the next Pokemon was a Kadabra. Again, it tried a Psybeam. Again, Alakazam redirected it back at its opponent. But instead of being hit in the chest and knocked out like the Kirlia, this Kadabra caught its own blast and redirected it back to its original foe. Alakazam caught the re-redirected blast, and re-re-redirected it back at Kadabra. There was a flash, and Kadabra was knocked out.

Trodaire was mesmerized. He had never seen battling like this before. Not a punch was thrown, an opponent tossed, nor a drop of blood spilt on the carpet. Just a series of supremely mentally-trained Pokemon assaulting one another through planes of existence that mere humans could never dream of reaching, and only a select few being given the gift to glimpse even the slightest shade of that plane. And there was Trodaire, a complete outsider, taking it all in without a word.

Finally, Sabrina stood up.

"The Gauntlet has ended. My Alakazam cannot continue battling." She said calmly. Everyone nodded in unison, all except Trodaire who was a half-count behind. He noticed Sabrina's eyes flit over to him, but said nothing. Then he glanced in the middle of the room. It was true. Alakazam was resting its body weight against one of its kinetic spoons, with one knee on the ground. It was sweating heavily, breathing deeply. One of its eyes was closed in pain. But it had a slightly satisfied smirk on its face. Trodaire glanced at the counter in the corner of the room, and saw a large red _17. _That was insane. He glanced at his watch. 8:30? It had gone that long?

Apparently when exposed to such refined psychic power, the laws of time and space began to feel slight side effects.

After the room had been cleared, and Trodaire continued sitting on the carpet pondering what he had seen, he felt a tapping on his shoulder. It was Sabrina.

"Mr. Phoenix, are you coming with us?" She asked flatly. Trodaire blinked once in confusion, but then nodded.

It took him a second to take off the _hakama_, and then he was out the door of the gym following the group of psychics to the ritzy place they were headed to. One thing that he did notice, however: all of the psychics were giving him and their master Sabrina a respectful circle of distance, leaving only Sabrina walking next to him.

What could it mean?

_**SABRINA**_

Sometimes, her trainers could be so far removed from subtlety it seemed inhuman. Sighing, she turned to Trodaire.

"What did you think?" She asked. He just chuckled softly.

"Incredible…" He said in a dazed whisper. Sabrina gave a satisfied smirk, and glanced in the direction of the place her group usually went to after the event. It was a small and quaint eatery that did not seem at all proper for a group of psychics, but Sabrina never liked attention for her and her trainers when they were on the town.

It was her, Trodaire, and a trio of her most trusted trainers. The rest had been unable to come. At least that made paying the bill a little bit easier.

When they reached the front door, the hostess smiled.

"Miss Sabrina, who's the guy friend?" She said with a wink. Sabrina blushed.

"Just a friend, Traci. Could you let us in to our usual spot?" She asked. Traci nodded, and bouncily led the quintet to the corner table in the back.

"So, Mr. Phoenix, what did you think of Mistress Sabrina's display?" Cecilia asked. Trodaire smiled, taking another spoonful of his order of Sharpedo-fin soup.

"I think you all are incredible. It was like watching soundless fireworks, or being inside a painting as the artist paints it, if that makes sense." He said, smiling as the psychics laughed at his unique description of their talent. It had even gotten Sabrina to smile. "Just a treat and an honor to watch." He said.

"Is there anything like that in Orre?" One of the psychics asked. To Sabrina's surprise, Trodaire's expression darkened.

"No. There's nothing like that in Orre." He said bluntly. "Nothing that sophisticated." He said. "Fights are pretty bloody in my home country, and I think I can count on one hand the number of times I'd seen a psychic Pokemon before I came to the gym tonight."

He didn't elaborate, and the psychics didn't press. But Sabrina wondered what he was hiding.

The rest of the night was uneventful. When the quintet left, the three psychics under Sabrina all took their leave and headed home. That left Sabrina and Trodaire walking back towards the Fight Club and the Saffron Gym.

Together.

Alone.

"You seem kind of curt when people ask you about your home country." Sabrina experimented after a moment or two or silence. Trodaire replied almost immediately.

"I don't like people immediately associating me with that place. I want to be thought of as Trodaire Phoenix, from Orre. Not that kid from Orre, Trodaire Phoenix. Make sense?" He said. He winced when he realized that that had come off as too harsh. "I'm sorry I snapped. It was just a question you were asking." He admitted. Sabrina smiled a little bit.

"It's okay. I understand the wanting to be known as yourself, and not for what you're known for." She said.

"How?" Trodaire asked. Sabrina sighed.

"It's hard being a psychic, Trodaire. It's a lonely, hard life. And for a girl, even harder. You know how much we have to deal with already." She said.

To be honest, Trodaire didn't, at least not entirely. But seeing as how it would be suicide for him to even insinuate as much, he decided the safest course of action was a sympathetic nod. He guessed right.

"Do you worry about the fight?" Sabrina asked. Trodaire shook his head.

"Me, worry? Nah, not at all! Nope." He said. To his surprise, Sabrina grabbed his hand and led him over to a fence by the side of the road. She looked him directly in the eye.

"Tell me the truth. I'm not reading your mind, but I know when someone is lying to me." She said gently. Trodaire looked at her, and sighed.

"Who am I kidding, Sabrina?" He said after a moment's contemplative silence. "I'm a nobody from Orre, who blew in here with nothing but the clothes on my back, a handful of money that I scraped together over a decade of staying alive in the streets when I decided I needed to leave that hellhole of a country, a suitcase of personal belongings that are worth nothing to anyone except me, and nothing but the hopes and prayers that I'd make it in one piece. And now I'm supposed to be coaching a former champion on how to beat a current champion? I'm just teaching Steven safer versions of the things I learned in the streets, but Lance? He's got years and years and years of the most sophisticated and ancient battling techniques in his corner. He has the mystique, he has the power and the fame of being the most legendary trainer alive. Do you know how many times he's lost in his career? In almost twenty years of battling?" He asked. Sabrina shook her head.

"ONCE. He has lost ONCE. To that Boy from the Mountain that might as well be a myth. No one really pays attention to that loss or even cares, because the Boy might not even exist for all they know. He's become as much of a legend as their hero Lance is. But Steven is a beatable foe. He is something that stands in the way of their hero. To them he is insufficient, to them he is something to be taken out with alongside the trash. And I'm supposed to have Steven go in there, face down the Dragon Master and his legions of fans, and essentially give them the middle finger and beat him? There's no way. I'm out of my league. I'm setting up Steven for a failure, and I don't know if I can admit it to him." He was shaking now, and in the coming gloaming of night, Sabrina could see that he was starting to cry. "And what'll happen then? They'll tear Steven down, because he was dumb enough to trust some bum from the streets, just another Orrean rat who scurried out of his mud hut. Steven doesn't deserve that, but that's what he'll get. And that's what I'm gonna be: just another bum from the burned country." He looked Sabrina in the eye, tears clearly coming down his cheek. "Aren't I just pathetic?" He said with a sad smile. "Here I am, talking to a pretty girl and I break down in tears. But that's just my luck, isn't it?" He asked.

Sabrina hadn't said anything, instead just letting Trodaire take ragged breaths as he calmed himself down, only to go on another rant.

"I just…I just want Steven to make Dragonite feel it. That damned Dragon has gone through its entire career breezing through every challenge it has ever faced. Every last one of them. Arceus, I don't think it's ever been knocked down once! But all I want, when that tournament rolls around, is for it to be down to the last man for both Lance and Steven. It'll be Dragonite against Aggron, and I want to see, for the first time in its life, that Dragonite realize that this challenger isn't going to back down. This challenger isn't going to curl up and faint. This challenger is going to take its best shots…and _just_ _keep coming._ And hit it just as hard as it gets hit. And I want to see the look in Dragonite's eyes when it realizes: _Wait a minute, this one could beat me._" Trodaire sighed. "If I see that, then I'll know for the first time in my life that I wasn't just another bum from the dust of the earth."

What Sabrina did next was something that neither of them could have expected in a million years. She looked at him, silently, and then threw her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Trodaire was surprised to feel it, but in a moment reciprocated the motion. For the longest time, they were holding each other, the only sound being the swaying of the trees in the evening wind and the sound of their breath. Then, Sabrina looked up at the Orrean that she'd come to know and respect in the four months she'd known him.

"You're not a bum from the dust of the earth. You're not a bum at all." She said quietly. Trodaire chuckled, and Sabrina felt the shaking of his chest against her head. It was a warm feeling, actually.

"Oh, yeah?" Trodaire said. "Why's that?" He asked. Sabrina smiled.

"Because I said so." She said. "And if even one person thinks that, then it can't be wrong." She looked around. "It's getting late. We should probably head back now. People will think we're a couple or something." She added with a wry smile.

And so they went, walking down the road towards their respective homes. Trodaire's arm around Sabrina's waist, Sabrina's arms around his. To outsiders who might have been walking out late that night and seen the two of them, it would've appeared to be a young couple walking home after an evening together.

And then again, dear readers, who are we to say otherwise?

A/N: I have made NOTHING official yet, my dear readers. Just a private and intimate moment between two people who are now close friends. (How can you not become that, after having a conversation like that between one another?) Hope you enjoyed a glimpse into the inner fears of Trodaire's soul, and you'll enjoy the next one too! We're getting tantalizingly close to the fight itself. Four weeks (in-story) away!

See you next time!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**TRODAIRE**_

__Two weeks passed. He trained Steven and the team as best as he could in preparation for the big fight, and knew that they had finally hit the home stretch. Every time he turned on the radio or television or picked up a newspaper, there was a story covering the lead-up to the Tournament. It was a stacked competition, with the likes of Alder and Iris from Unova, Wallace from Hoenn, Steven, Lance from Kanto, Cynthia from Sinnoh (though she admitted that she didn't expect to get out of the first round), Gary freaking Oak from Kanto (how he'd managed to parlay his ownership of the Viridian Gym into a spot in the World Tournament was a mystery to Trodaire; It was apparently Lance's suggestion that they allow him into the tournament, even though he'd held the spot of Kanto Champion for the embarrassingly short time of one day before being stomped by the last entrant in the tournament.)

That left the Boy from the Mountain filling in the eighth and final spot. It was all but a certainty that he was going into the Finals, and that he was likely to win again. He hadn't competed the past two years, but for whatever reason he had decided to appear in this tournament. Naturally, the schedulers of the tournament were ecstatic to let him in. Would _you_ be the one willing to say no to the only undefeated Pokemon Trainer in the world?

It was a ridiculously stacked lineup, and as luck (or lack thereof) would have it, Steven had drawn Lance as his first opponent. As the date of the first round neared, Trodaire realized just how lofty of a goal he'd set for the team was. It was enough to keep him awake at night, lying on the couch in Bettie and Paulie's living room while tossing a rubber ball up in the air and catching it in the darkness. He was having trouble focusing on the goal at hand, though. For whenever he was at his lowest, he'd think back to that night out in the Saffron parks, when Sabrina had looked into his eyes and told him that he was worth something after all…

He'd still been thinking about that moment when she'd hugged him when he was at his lowest. She'd felt soft and warm in his arms, and for the first time in a while he hadn't worried about what the next workout routine for the team was, or whether Aggron could withstand Dragonite's Giga Impact without its internal organs imploding, or whether this was an elaborate sham that he was playing Steven with. She'd just calmed him down, and was the first real person he could ever remember telling him that he was special.

He wondered if she'd thought about that night as well, but doubted it. After all, she was a busy woman with a gym to run. Did she really have time to dwell on a random night like that? Did she even care?

_**SABRINA**_

Ohhhh yes she did.

_**TRODAIRE**_

He was interrupted from his private musings when the door to the Fight Club opened, and Steven and Cynthia walked in the door. They were dressed the same way they had the first day they'd walked into the place: Steven in that immaculate blazer of his; Cynthia in her onyx-black dress. Steven had a determined smile on his face.

"Ready, coach?" He asked. It was the first time that he'd ever used that word in particular in reference to Trodaire, and it filled the Orrean with pride.

"Yeah. Let's go." He said.

There was a shuffling in the back, and Paulie came out of the office.

"Yeh have fun now, Troddie!" He said. "Conks and I'll watch the Fight Club for yehs!" He said with a smile and wave. Trodaire nodded, absently placed his hands in his hoodie pocket, and followed Steven and Cynthia out of the door.

It was six in the morning. The official health evaluation was at noon the following day in Unova, and Cynthia had bought them tickets on the Bullet Train so that they could arrive in Castelia City at around seven P.M. that night. It was going to be a long train ride, but Trodaire didn't mind. To be honest, he was still slightly in awe that he was about to arrive in the largest city in the world with two of the most powerful trainers in the world…and they were bringing him as their trusted council. If someone had told his fourteen-year-old Orrean self ten years ago, he wouldn't have believed it. He would've thought that the person telling him was just playing a mean joke.

They made it to the train station with more than enough time to spare, and to Trodire's shock and awe Cynthia's tickets were for the front of the train and thus the "luxury" cars. Two "bedroom" cars and one "common room" car with a refrigerator and sink and coffee table. He would've been okay with just buying an apartment with those basic amenities back in Orre. As they punched their tickets and walked onto the train, Steven looked at him and grinned.

"This feeling that you're getting?" He said, causing Trodaire to look at him. "It never goes away." Steven said. It was in that moment that Trodaire realized that no matter how far along Steven came on his journey, he was never going to lose sight of being properly thankful of the extraordinary things he got to be a part of. Cynthia nodded in approval, and led the two of them behind her to the common room. She took a seat at one of the chairs, and then to their surprise kicked her feet up on the table.

"What?" She asked as they raised an eyebrow. "I've always wanted to kick my feet up in a situation like this." Steven smiled, for when he took a seat her feet were pretty much right in his face.

"You do know that your feet are directly in my face, right?" He said teasingly. Cynthia raised an eyebrow.

"What's the matter, pretty boy? They smell bad or something?" She asked. Steven rolled his eyes.

"I'm not feeling suicidal, Cynthia. I'm not answering that question." He said. Cynthia frowned.

"I'm not feeling the passive answers, Stevie. Pick a side: good or bad?" She asked. Steven shrugged.

"Cynthia…"

"Steven…"

"Ok, fine. They're fine." Steven admitted, and when Cynthia looked at him expectantly he continued. "Your feet smell fine."

Cynthia smiled approvingly. It was at that moment that both she and Steven realized that Trodaire was in the room with them. They turned to look at him in unison, and saw that the Orrean had a mixture of confusion, discomfort, and amusement on his face.

"Please tell me that this isn't how you guys interact when I'm not around."

_**STEVEN**_

Once they had successfully explained to Trodaire that no, that was not in fact their idea of foreplay (something that brought a crimson blush to both Steven and Cynthia's face), the trio were now sitting at the coffee table chowing into the complimentary snack food that the attendant for their section of the train had dropped off. Trodaire and Steven were deep in discussion concerning game theory concerning the match. Cynthia was busy with her head buried in her smartphone, texting someone. Eventually Steven had to ask.

"Who are you talking to, Cynthia?" He asked. Cynthia shrugged.

"Misty, the Gym Leader from Cerulean City in Kanto." She said. "We exchanged numbers, along with the other girls that were watching your practice a few months ago."

Steven and Trodaire nodded, both completely unaware of any underlying meaning to that statement. They then went back to discussing game theory, unaware that Cynthia was staring at them and rolling her eyes. Sometimes, boys could be so damned stupid…

_**CYNTHIA**_

Cynthia was many things, but unobservant was not one of them. Over the weeks that had turned to months in Saffron, she'd witnessed the interactions of Trodaire Phoenix and a certain violet-eyed Gym Leader from Saffron. Seeing as how he was not capable (or afraid) of setting the ball in motion, she decided that maybe it was time to see what she could do to assess the situation.

**Hi Misty. It's Cynthia.**

** …**

_ZOMG hi cynthia! what are u doing?_

…

**Sitting on a train with Steven and Trodaire on the way to the health inspection. It's about as fun as you'd expect.**

…

_major bummer. they boring u?_

…

**Surprisingly, no. You know that I enjoy listening to Steven and Trodaire talk about battle theory. Those two could take teaching positions at Earl's Training Academy and easily be the most popular teachers on campus. But that's not what I want to talk to you about.**

…

_kk! wut are u thinking about?_

…

**Trodaire and Sabrina. What's the deal?**

…

_oh boy. wut do u wanna hear?_

…

**I want to know if Sabrina has ever talked to you about Trodaire. **

…

_the better question would be when HASNT she talked about him…_

…

**Interesting…**

"Hey Trodaire," Cynthia said. "You never told us about what happened at the gala that Sabrina invited you to." She was slightly pleased to see that he was now blushing a little bit (a bit hard to see considering his tanned features) and now awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs.

"Oh, um, it was fun." He said. "I, uh, got to meet some cool people…Sabrina was nice…I pretty much called Clair a loser bitch in front of everyone…" He finished lamely. Cynthia smirked.

"I heard. Good for you. How was Sabrina?" She asked. Trodaire looked confused.

"Huh?" He asked. Cynthia resisted the urge to facepalm.

"Did she seem like she had fun?" She asked. By now Steven had figured out where Cynthia was going with this, and decided to listen in. It could be fun. They had a long train ride ahead of them…

"Uh, yeah. I think so." He said. "She, uh, smiled a lot." Cynthia nodded. This boy was so clueless she wondered if maybe he had a bit of Psyduck in him. So she went back to Misty, and Trodaire went back to talking about battling with Steven.

**So, about the gala. What did Sabrina think about it?**

…

_O. M. G. where to begin? she thought that trodaire was the most awesome person in the world for taking down that cocky bitch clair. she wouldnt shut up about it. that and the fact that he was pleasant and respectful to the elite four members that were sitting with them. it was totally clair's fault that he got mad. and even then i didn't hear it because he was so good at keeping his voice down._

…

**I know that Sabrina is sometimes a hard nut to crack. What does she think of Trodaire?**

… … … … … … … …

_she TOTES likes him. a LOT. but shes painfully shy about it. she doesnt think that trodaire has time to think about the possibility of anything outside of battling or training because of how big a deal this fight is. she knows how much stress hes under. shes worried about him._

…

**How does she know about what he's feeling?**

…

_cuz like two weeks ago he and she were out one night and he told her this really personal story about how he thinks hes a failure because he doesnt know if steven can beat lance and he doesnt want to set him up for failure. he thought he was a "bum from the dust of the earth." rina went home and practically cried herself because she felt so bad for him. so as a sign that she cared, she went and mauled like fifteen trainers that were challenging for her gym badge that following day. because what she cant do vocally she can certainly do in battle._

…

**That sounds exactly like something that Sabrina would do. **

…

_omg totes. sooo should we play matchmaker for them then? ive got some great ideas! _

…

**Haha. It might just come to that. In fact, **_**I**_** have an idea…**

…

_OMG wut?_

…

**You still friends with that one guy who's going to be doing the play-by-play commentary for the television and radio feeds of the match, Chip Skarmory or whatever his stage name is?**

…

_yeah im bffs with chip still. y do u ask?_

…

**I think you should ask if he'll give Sabrina and Trodaire a private tour of the World Tournament stage and the arena that the fight is going to take place. And then…when he's let them into the stage area…**

…

_…chip leaves them alone to each other! ZOMG its perfect! but y something like this?_

…

**Because I think that if Trodaire is feeling a little bit worried about what he's going up against, he'd better have a better feeling of what the atmosphere of the location will be like. Because tough guy or not, Trodaire might freak the hell out when Lance makes his big entrance.**

…

_ugh…i completely forgot that lance does that whole scary entrance with druids carrying flames on sticks and that creepy as hell gong noise. yeah if trodaire has never been in an arena before that crowds reaction might make him have a heart attack._

…

**Exactly. And what better person to calm his fears than the one person that he's spilled the most about himself to: Sabrina?**

…

_u are evil. i LOVE it! k ill text chip and ask him! ttyl!_

Cynthia just had to smile at her new friend's incredible enthusiasm. It was clear that she'd chosen wisely in asking someone to help her in at least seeing if anything could happen between Trodaire and Sabrina. Misty was perhaps the most excitable person that she had ever met. Well, perhaps second to Wallace. But Wallace was an interesting bird to say the least. She smiled fondly, recalling the truly hysterical conversation where Steven thought that Wallace was…you know…until Wallace's girlfriend walked in the door and planted a big smooch on his lips. Cynthia had never laughed harder in her life. As she smiled with a dopy sigh, she turned and saw that Steven was staring bullet holes at her.

"Cynthia. That's the same smile you get when you think about when I thought that Wallace was-" His eyes narrowed. "Oh, you _suck._" He growled. Cynthia laughed. Trodaire just scratched his head confusedly.

"I don't get you two." He just said flatly.

And so they continued their train ride to Unova, joking and laughing all the way.

_**MISTY**_

As soon as her text conversation with Cynthia was over, Misty went to work. She immediately put down her phone and logged onto her computer in her office, quickly typing in the name of the contact she needed for a video chat...

Chip Skarmory was sitting in his room at home, playing catch with his trusty friend Whismur, when his computer started squawking that a video chat was incoming. Hastily running over, he punched in the keys needed to turn the thing on.

"Wassup, fireball?" He asked teasingly, running a hand through his spiky black hair. Misty pouted.

"_That's the first thing that you say to me, Chipster?_" She asked, pretending to be hurt. "_Maybe I won't just come down and see you in a few weeks then…_" Chip laughed, a melodious sound much like his announcing voice.

"I hope you're not serious, Spice!" He said.

"Spice" was his nickname for Misty. When Misty had asked why, he explained that because of her red hair, that made her a "Ginger." But since "Ginger" was a dumb thing to call someone, he decided that since ginger was a spice he would call her "Spice." Misty thought he put too much time into something really silly. Chip said that she should expect the silly out of a colorful TV and radio personality. It was in his DNA.

"What can I do for you, Spice?" He asked. Misty put on her best Growlithe puppy eyes.

"_I need you to let two friends of mine into the Big Arena in the World Tournament when you go there yourself in a week to get a feel of the place and do some of your own personal video-blogging for your website._" She said. Chip shrugged. This didn't seem too hard.

"No problemo, Spice! Say, what's the reason?" He asked. Misty shrugged.

"_I'm playing matchmaker for a pair. Or maybe I'm not. We'll see how it goes."_ She admitted. Chip smiled. Considering his teeth were nearly perfect, it was quite a sight.

"Awesome! And old Chippy is part of the fun! I'll see what I can do! Who's your friend that you're setting up with some schlub?" He asked teasingly. Misty smiled.

"_Rina._"

Chip nearly fell out of his chair in shock.

_**SABRINA**_

__Sabrina was currently unaware of any of this, as she was in the middle of something very important. Namely, she was trying to get inside the Fight Club, and the door was locked.

No, she wasn't "breaking in," per say. She was just…"getting a feel for the parameters of the facility." Yeah. That was it. The old man Paulie had gone home for the night, and Sabrina knew for a fact that the two of them were not able to afford expensive security. So when she used her psychic powers to help her pick the lock, she could barely contain her glee…

…only to have it die in her throat when Conkeldurr appeared in the doorway, threateningly brandishing one of its concrete pipes and just _daring_ Sabrina to walk through the front door.

"Uh, hi." Sabrina said squeakily. Grunting in annoyance, Conkeldurr pointed to the window of the Fight Club, where Trodaire had scribbled in dry-erase marker the hours of the gym. It was currently after hours. Sabrina tried again. "Can…can I come in?" She asked. Conkeldurr grunted, and once again pointed at the hours list, as if this human woman was too damned stupid to understand the concept the first time. Sighing, Sabrina decided to tell the truth.

"Okay. I know that I'm breaking in. But there's a reason for that. See, there's something that I've seen your boss doing when I've walked in here and I wanted to, well, give it a try. To impress him." She said.

Conkeldurr grunted, as if asking why she thought that that would impress him.

"I don't know why!" Sabrina said exasperatedly. "Look, if you let me in, you can watch me the entire time, and I promise that I won't touch anything that I'm not allowed to." She pleaded. Conkeldurr stared at her for a long time, before grunting and moving aside to let her enter.

Sabrina made her way through the darkened gym, walking all the way to the back of the main room. There, sitting in the corner and untouched, was that wooden dummy she'd seen him working on time and time again. Quietly, she ran her fingers on the smooth wooden exterior. It was cool to the touch. Softly, she made a movement that she had seen him do himself, softly tapping the wooden with the side of her forearm.

THWOCK.

It was one of the prettiest sounds she had ever heard. She smiled a little bit, and then hit it again.

THWOCK.

She heard a soft tapping noise, and saw that Conkeldurr had set down a few books that featured a man striking a wooden dummy similar to the one that she had just hit. She opened the first book to see a walkthrough through what appeared to be a basic introduction to properly using the thing. She looked at Conkeldurr and smiled.

"I might be here a while." She said.

Sighing, the aging Pokemon grabbed a chair and began to watch.

A/N: Another one bites the dust! What do you think? Lemme know!


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**TRODAIRE**_

__Castelia City was…huge. No, that wasn't nearly an acceptable enough word to describe the enormity of this place. Buildings that seemed to scrape the sky. Glass, steel, and chrome the materials of choice. There might be more people in this city than the entire Orre region. It was overwhelming, really. When he had followed Cynthia and Steven down main street, he had stopped and gawked at the sheer number of men and women in suits running to and from work. If he hadn't been careful, he would've been swept away in the sea of people running around like confused Doduo.

He felt a clap on his shoulder. It was Steven.

"Crazy, isn't it?" The Steel Master asked. "It doesn't matter how many times I've been here: I get just as weirded out too. Think these people even know what's going on in two weeks?" He asked teasingly. Behind them, Cynthia smiled.

"I wouldn't criticize them too much, Steven. It's highly likely that some of the people running to work here are the same people that are in charge of helping put together the entire tournament." She said. She then looked thoughtful. "As a matter of fact, I think that that friend of Lance's is arriving tonight, too."

"I have a question." Trodaire said. As they walked on the sidewalk towards the WPHO headquarters where the evaluation was taking place. "Just who _is_ this 'Boy from the Mountain' that you all keep talking about? I've never even heard of the guy." He said indignantly.

"That's because if he doesn't want to be talked about, he doesn't get talked about in faraway places like Orre or even Sinnoh." Cynthia said. "The only reason I even knew he existed was the first time that I was inducted in the Hall of Fame, and he was at the ceremony." Steven suddenly looked interested.

"Did he say anything to you about it?" He asked. Cynthia shook her head.

"Nope. He just gave that little smile of his, shook my hand, and then disappeared into the night. And yet…" She trailed off. "…That smile meant more to me than a long-winded speech full of platitudes ever could have." Steven nodded.

"Yep. That's literally what he did at my induction, too." He said. Trodaire was even more confused.

"Waaaait a second here. Have either of you heard him talk before?" He asked.

There was a pause.

"Nope." Cynthia said.

"Not a peep." Steven said. "Though apparently he talks to Lance all the time."

"He's the only real friend that Lance has got in this world, I think." Cynthia said. "Sometimes I think Lance feels that when people try to be his 'friends' they're really out to say that they're palling up with one of the greatest trainers of all time. I think the two of them, though, are tried and true friends. They both know a thing or two about how lonely it is at the top."

"But you guys are Champions too!" Trodaire said. "Don't you guys understand?" He asked. Cynthia just laughed.

"We're _regional _Champions, yes. But we're not _World _champions, Trodaire. For whatever reason some reporter on a lazy day many years ago must have come up with that distinction, and right now only Lance and that boy are considered _World _champions." She said. "I'd rather just be where I am right now. Think of how much unnecessary work that must be. Steven and I at least have a life outside of the Pokemon League. Lance, I'm not sure he does. And I have honestly no idea what the Boy from the Mountain does with his spare time. Just sits and meditates on Mount Silver's peak, perhaps." She said. Steven grinned.

"I've heard all sorts of crazy rumors about him." He said. Cynthia raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? And what might some of those be?" She asked. Steven grinned even wider.

"I've heard that he's spoken to the Legendaries on a daily basis and that he plays cards with Arceus." Steven said. "He lets Arceus win so that it can continue to feel adequate."

"Not bad." Cynthia said. "I've heard that when his Pokemon do push-ups, they're not pushing up; they're pushing the earth down."

"What about the myth that in the beginning every Pokemon looked exactly the same, and so he had his team beat them all into varying shapes and shades of black and blue? That's where we got all of the various Pokemon!" He said.

It was clear that this had now escalated into a good-natured argument over who could come up with the most ridiculous story while making it still sound at least a little bit plausible. Trodaire just sighed. He looked up, and saw a large gleaming building that had WPHO emblazoned on the side. They were there. Finally.

"Guys, I'm gonna head inside and register us." He said. When he saw that they hadn't heard him, he just shook his head. "So you continue deciding which of you is the better storyteller." He walked away, muttering something about champions behaving like little children under his breath.

The inside of the WPHO building was immaculately clean. It was glass and steel, and if there was a dust ball somewhere Trodaire was certain that a nearby Chansey or Blissey would come and sweep it away. He walked to the receptionist's counter, where an absolutely gorgeous woman was working.

"Uh, excuse me?" He asked. The woman turned to look him, and Trodaire tried not to look too hard into her strikingly green eyes lest he become lost in them. "I'm, um, here to register my trainer's team for the World Tournament."

"Name, please?" She asked sweetly. Trodaire sighed.

"Uh…try Steven Stone." He said. The woman punched the name into her computer, and the pleasant look on her face indicated that she had found what she was looking for.

"Done!" She said. "Mr. Stone is now officially accounted for. His examination will be in about two hours. I'm afraid that the trainers before him in the bracket are taking longer than expected." Trodaire nodded, took the punch-key card that the woman had given him, and headed back out to the front of the building where Cynthia and Steven were _still _arguing.

"…I've heard that his tears cure Pokerus! The problem is that he's never cried." Steven said. Cynthia looked thoughtful, and then smiled.

"I've heard that he's never lost a Pokemon battle once in his life." She said smugly. Steven threw up his armed in defeat.

"Got me there." He admitted. He turned to see Trodaire. "Oh, hey Trodaire! Did you check me in?" He asked. Trodaire wordlessly tossed him the key card, and Cynthia took that as her cue to punch in as well. As she left, Trodaire turned to Steven.

"I'm gonna walk around the city for a bit. You're not up for two hours, anyway." He said. Steven nodded, then thought of something.

"Here, take this." He said, tossing something small and metal to Trodaire. The Orrean caught it, and then saw that it was a PokeGear.

"What's this?" He asked. Steven smiled.

"A thank you gift for everything you've done so far. Also, no self-respecting coach shouldn't have a cell phone of some sort." He said. Trodaire smiled appreciatively, and then walked away from the WPHO building. As soon as he was safely out of earshot, Steven smirked. "I hope you were right, Cynthia…" He muttered, before walking inside to join his girlfriend. As he did, he absently felt his left pants pocket, where he was carrying a small box with something very small and beautiful inside it. _When the time is right…_

As Trodaire was playing with his new PokeGear, he saw that there was a new message in the text box. He opened it up.

_I hope everything is going well in Unova. _

He was confused. He didn't recognize the number. But then again, it was probably someone he knew. So, being the nice guy he was (not wanting to leave this person hanging), he slowly punched in his reply. After all, this was the first time he'd ever used a smartphone before.

**It is so far. I'm sorry if this seems rude, but who is this?**

_**SABRINA**_

___It is so far. I'm sorry if this sees rude, but who is this? _

She stared at that response for a split second, did a double take that he had actually responded (he was too nice, darn it!) and in seconds replied back.

**Your neighbor, dummy.**

…

_Sabrina? How'd you get this number? _

**Cynthia bought the thing, and then sent out a text to a bunch of people asking for their numbers so that she could add them onto your PokeGear. Do you like it?**

…

_Yeah, it's amazing! Never had anything like this back home. Just getting used to typing on a keyboard, though…_

**Oh don't worry. You'll get used to it.**

She sat there at her desk, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek as she figured what to say next. Assuming that he'd be probably busy for the next few hours, she decided to keep it simple.

**I'm sure you've got a lot to worry about over there. Let me know how it goes, ok?**

She closed her PokeGear, and sighed. Then she allowed herself an evil grin. That poor little fool didn't realize it, but now there was nowhere for him to hide…

"_Madam Sabrina, I must say that your thoughts concerning Master Trodaire are very confusing."_

"Oh, what do you know, you overgrown Abra?" Sabrina grumbled, before lounging in her chair again.

_**TRODAIRE**_

He had found himself so immersed in the city itself and his new PokeGear that before long Trodaire found himself in the harbor of Castelia, staring out into the Great Sea in front of him. It was a stunning vast quantity of water, and Trodaire couldn't help but marvel at its inherent beauty. He squinted, and could have sworn that he saw Dewgong in the distance jumping out of the water.

"It's a marvel, isn't it?" Another man's voice said. Trodaire blinked once in surprise, and turned to face the speaker. He was an aging man, probably in his mid-fifties with black hair that was starting to show signs of gray. His face was starting to wrinkle, yet there was a mischievous glint in his eye. He had an unassuming pair of glasses perched on his nose. He looked like an accountant or businessman that never saw the outside of a cubicle for nine hours a day, five days a week. Yet for whatever reason, Trodaire couldn't help but reply to his remarks.

"I've never seen it before." The Orrean admitted. The man next to him nodded.

"Most Orreans say the same thing." He said. When Trodaire looked confused, the man smiled. "I've been to the region myself. It's a beautiful place in its own way, but you and I both know that water isn't what one would call an 'abundant' resource there."

"'Beautiful' isn't the word I'd use." Trodaire said. The man looked at him quizzically.

"You grow up in a rough area?" The man asked. Trodaire laughed.

"Where is it not rough in Orre?" He asked. The man couldn't help but grin.

"I hear Agate Village or Phenac City is pretty this time of year." He said. Now he had Trodaire's full attention.

"Pyrite." Trodaire admitted. "I'm from Pyrite Town." This earned him a look of sympathy from the man next to him.

"I've been there. You seem remarkably well-adjusted for a youngster out of there." He said. Instead of being offended like he normally would, Trodaire felt a little flattered. Maybe it was because this man seemed like he knew what he was talking about when he talked about Orre. "How old are you?"

"Twenty four." Trodaire said. "Well, I turn twenty four in a few weeks, but it's close enough."

"Ah. I just celebrated my fiftieth last month. You make me feel old…You must've been in Pyrite during some of the really difficult times. The mining business drying up, crime exploding…" The man said.

"…Street fighting…" Trodaire said under his breath. The man heard this, but gave no mention or sign of it.

"It's a sign of a man's strength when he is able to beat the impossible odds that others set for him," the man said. "The fact that you are here and not a statistic there is a sign of yours." He extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, by the way. What's your name?"

"Trodaire. Trodaire Phoenix." Trodaire said, shaking the man's name.

"That's an excellent name, with an added bonus for someone who speaks old Orrean." The man said. "My name is Arach." He looked quizzical. "If you don't mind me asking, but what are you here for in Castelia?"

"I'm here for the WPHO health examination for the World Tournamen-" Trodaire realized. "Oh no! I'm here for the WPHO health examination for the World Tournament!" He started to sprint off, before he felt the man's arm grab his shoulder.

"Relax, young man. They only require the actual trainers themselves to be there at exactly the start time of the examination. Seeing as how you are none of the champions, you can afford to take your time. As a matter of fact, I'm here for the World Tournament as well. Would you like to walk back with me?" He asked, casually beginning to walk away without waiting for Trodaire's response. The Orrean blinked once, and then hurriedly followed after him.

"Uh, thanks for waiting." Trodaire said as he caught up to the man in question. "But I gotta ask: why are you here for the World Tournament?"

"I'm a bored old man looking for some entertainment." Arach said. "And I must confess, I love Pokemon battles. There's something so elegant about them."

"You and I must be watching different battles." Trodaire commented snidely as they weaved through the sea of people. Arach shrugged.

"I suppose you have a point. Each type of Pokemon fights a little bit differently. For example, I assume that you are a fan of Fighting types?"

"How do you know?" Trodaire asked. Arach smiled.

"It's in the way you carry yourself. You must be a martial artist, considering the tone of your body and the way you walk with your shoulders back. You aren't afraid of yourself or ashamed. You can take on anyone who challenges you. Yet you look down at the ground because you don't want to hurt anyone, so you convey a sense of a gentle giant." He smiled a little bit more. "Though seeing as you are barely over six foot tall, 'giant' might not be the right word." Arach explained. Trodaire was silent.

"What is your favorite type of Pokemon?" He finally asked.

"Favorite? I like them all, but I must confess that I enjoy the mystery of Dragons." Arach said. "Training one is a mirror of living life, I've always thought."

"How do you figure?" Trodaire asked. Arach shrugged.

"They are capable of incredible strength, of great and powerful and terrible things. They are stubborn and rude and fickle creatures that often do not know their place or refuse to recognize it. This is when they are young, or when they refuse to learn or accept that they may be flawed. And yet when they learn to accept who and what they are and strive to better even that…that is when they take to the skies and become incredible." He looked at Trodaire. "It's the same with us humans. We are capable of feats of incredible strength, power, brutality, and awe. We are also capable of breath-taking accomplishments of beauty and wonder. We like to think that we know everything about anything. We also know that sometimes we know nothing about anything. It is only when we accept that we do not in fact know everything and are flawed that we begin to grow and become great. So, in reality, Dragons are my favorite because whenever I see a Dragon take flight for the first time I am reminded of how humans are also capable of accomplishing something equally as breath-taking." He finished just as they reached the WPHO building. Trodaire stared at him with a look of awe on his face.

"I've…I've never thought of it like that before." He admitted. "I just saw them as legends, as things that needed to be brought down to our level."

"They do." Arach admitted. "But getting them down to our level is what separates the average, run-of-the-mill trainer from the one that is serious about understanding the relationship we share with Pokemon. And that's where the fun really begins." He glanced to the front door and smiled. "It would appear my friends are looking for me." He said. Trodaire looked to where he was staring, and felt his jaw drop to the ground.

Clair and Lance.

They were both looking at Trodaire, and while Lance's expression was a combination of blankness and confusion, Clair's was one of absolute revulsion.

"What are you doing with _him, _Grandmaster?" Clair asked, barely containing her rage. Trodaire didn't even care that she had taken the time to belittle him yet again, for his head was spinning from her last word. _Grandmaster…_Arach was their _Grandmaster? _Grandmaster of…_He was the Grandmaster of the Dragon Clan? _And Trodaire had _challenged him on why he liked Dragons?_ It was a wonder he hadn't summoned a Hydreigon out of thin air to rip the Orrean's head off. Trodaire was certain that the unassuming man carried one around for such occasions.

"If I wish to entertain myself with a fine young gentleman who offered to help a man who was lost in a new city, that is entirely my business." Arach said politely, yet the implication was clear: they were not to question his authority or choice of company in this manner. Trodaire couldn't believe it when Clair and Lance both bowed respectfully to his words. Arach raised an eyebrow. "I believe your test is next, Lance. I think it would be wise for us all to go in and see what they think of your team." He said. Lance and Clair turned around and walked back inside the building. Arach walked after them, but then turned and stopped so that he was facing Trodaire once more.

"I am a bored old man looking for some entertainment." Arach said. "I get the feeling that you and Mr. Stone will provide that entertainment in two weeks." He winked cryptically, and then walked back inside after his disciples.

It was in that moment that Trodaire realized that Grandmaster Arach had known who he was the entire time, and the revelation of this knowledge was enough to cause him to collapse onto the nearest bench in shock.

_**STEVEN**_

He was still there when Steven exited the building with Cynthia thirty minutes later. Steven saw his dumbfounded expression and frowned.

"You ok, buddy?" He asked.

"Yeah…" Trodaire said vacantly. "I'm…I had an interesting day, is all." He looked up at the two of them. "How'd the exam go?" Steven smiled.

"We got the all-clear! Even Excadrill is okayed to go! So what's left for the last two weeks?" He asked. Trodaire looked at him, and the vacant expression was gone.

"We downplay the physical work for now. For the next two weeks…it's about the head game. We're gonna discuss the mental part of beating Lance." He said. "Be prepared for a lot of speeches." He grumbled. Steven and Cynthia smiled in approval, and with that the trio departed to catch the next train back to Kanto. Trodaire glanced back at the WPHO organization, and could've sworn that he saw an aging man in glasses who looked like an unassuming accountant make eye contact with him and give an approving nod, before disappearing in the crowd.

_**SABRINA**_

It had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. She'd faced five trainers, and of them three were walking on to Cinnabar to take on crazy old Blaine (who'd consoled her by saying he'd roast them easily) while the other two had given her a serious beat down even in defeat. Alakazam was still meditating to help recover from the battering he'd taken, and whenever Sabrina glanced over to see his black eye she felt a pang of regret.

"_Worry not, Madam Sabrina. For even if I were to lose this eye (and I should assure you I shan't), Great Arceus has given me a spare."_

"Thanks for the support." Sabrina said. It had been hard, it had been difficult, and the last thing she wanted was for anyone to talk to her right now. She was planning on getting comfortable and watching a couple of dumb chick flicks with a carton of ice cream for her and her hard-working team as a reward for how they'd done. Thank GOD the gym was closed tomorrow for cleaning. She'd be up late.

So understandably, she was pissed when her PokeGear started squawking on the table. It was an incoming call, but Sabrina immediately whipped the phone to her ear and snarled.

"Darn it Misty, I am in NO MOOD to hear about how well your little precious Gyarados did today swimming in the Cerulean POOL!"

There was a pause.

"_Uh…should I call back later?"_

It was a voice that was decidedly not Misty and decidedly male. Sabrina's eyes widened in panic, and she nearly dropped the phone.

"T-Trodaire?" She asked. "Is that you?"

"_No, it's Misty. And boy let me tell you, little Gary is doing GREAT! Why just the other day he made to one end of the pool and back!_" Trodaire's voice was snide, and it was enough to make Sabrina's face fall.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." She said. Trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, she absently drummed her fingers on the desk. "So, um, what are you calling for?"

"_Just wanted to see how things went yesterday and earlier today while I was coming home from Unova. I'm…guessing that they weren't the best."_

"You have NO idea." Sabrina said.

"_What happened?_"

"You don't wanna know." Sabrina warned.

"_Don't worry. I'm a good listener."_

"Well, ok…" Sabrina said, a smile cracking on her face. "If you insist…"

**TWO HOURS LATER**

"…and then Blaine said that he was gonna personally fry that punk's team with his Magmar! You probably guessed his Pokemon would be Magmar, didn't you?" She asked.

"_I did. Seemed like the kind of Pokemon he'd use." _Trodaire said patiently. "_You feeling better?"_

"Much." Sabrina said with a smile. "Now I think I can get on with my day."

"_Which involves breaking into the Fight Club to work on my wooden dummy, right?"_ Trodaire asked smugly. He laughed at Sabrina's shocked silence. "_If you wanna use that baby, just ask! Don't give Conkeldurr a reason to smack something with those honking concrete pillars he carries."_

"Oh, um, right." Sabrina said. "Um, I'll do that then."

"_What? Let me show you how to use that thing?_" Trodaire asked teasingly. Sabrina nodded, realized that he couldn't see her, and then spoke.

"Yes. I'll be over tomorrow. Right now I can wait."

"_Ice cream?_" Trodaire asked. Sabrina smiled.

"It never fails."

"_Agreed._ _Well, I'll see you tomorrow then!"_

"Alright, good bye!" Sabrina said. She hung up, and then sighed contentedly. Alakazam silently walked up next to her, clutching an icepack against its blackened eye.

"_If getting punched in the face is what it takes for you to start admitting you care about Master Phoenix, I shudder to think of what you require of me when you consider dating the fellow._"

"Oh, shut up Alakazam."

A/N: Another one in the books! We're so…damned…close! See you next time, and I hope you liked this one!

Hint: If you're wondering, I use Gaelic as a substitute for Orrean. So if you want to know what some of the words that don't look like English mean…you can look them up. See you later!


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

_**TRODAIRE**_

__They were in the Fight Club late that day. Trodaire had intentionally scheduled the practice later than normal so that the Pokemon could get an extra bit of rest. Yet when Steven and Cynthia walked in the door, they saw that Trodaire was just leaning against the ropes of the boxing ring, clearly deep in thought.

"Send 'em out." He said. Steven complied, and it wasn't long before Aggron, Excadrill and Armaldo were pacing anxiously around the Fight Club waiting for their latest orders. Trodaire looked up at them all and smiled.

"It's almost here, guys. One more week, and you're fighting in the World Tournament." He said with a smile. "One more week, and you'll be on the world's brightest stage. Everyone is going to be watching. Tomorrow you rest. Then, we do some light training. Then, in a week you fight. Isn't it something?" He asked. The three Pokemon, as well as the champions behind them, nodded.

"It's been a crazy five months." Steven said. Trodaire nodded.

"I was up late last night." He said. Paulie, who was sitting in his chair reading the paper, nodded in agreement.

"Poor Troddie walked down ta Silph. Co. an' back…an' he STILL couldn't falls asleep!" He said. Cynthia and Steven looked at each other with a hint of worry. They had glanced at Trodaire with Paulie's revelation, and noticed that the Orrean was looking a little haggard. Clearly this fight was weighing on him more than he was letting on.

"Trodaire, you don't have to weigh yourself down with all of this." Cynthia said. "It isn't healthy."

"I know." Trodaire said. "Which is why I called today's practice. Instead of practicing the 'hows' and 'whats' of the fight, I wanna focus on the 'why.'" He said. There was a silence, with the only noise the buzzing of the lights above them. He looked at Steven and Cynthia poignantly. "Why are we doing this?"

"To prove I have something left." Steven said. "That my team and I haven't been passed by."

"Because I made Steven a promise and I intend to see it through." Cynthia said. "I might not be fighting Steven or Lance, but I'm here to support the man I love." She said firmly. Steven blushed at this rather blunt gesture, but he appreciated it. Trodaire smiled.

"I figured that was why you two are here." He said. "But why are these three doing it?" He wormed his way through the ropes, and hopped to the ground. He walked in front of Armaldo.

"You. You're the quietest of the bunch here. But I know that you've at least heard what they say about you. You're boring. You're unoriginal. You're gonna be a blip on their radar for maybe a few moments, but then you're gonna be smashed into the ground. But that's the beauty of you: you don't give a damn what others think of you. You couldn't care less about who it is that we're facing, and you couldn't care what others think of you when you fight. Your only goal this entire time has been to improve upon your craft, so that your technique is flawless. Well, it's darn near flawless isn't it? There's nothing more I can show you about how to take down an opponent using your weight the way that you do…but it isn't just about that, is it?" He asked. "You're in this because…you get to live out a fantasy." Armaldo looked at him passively, but Steven sensed the confusion it had had. Trodaire smiled. "Your job is to wrestle a Dragon into submission. Think about that. Us humans…we've told legends of men and women of the past who tamed Dragons by single-handedly wrestling them and then training them once we were established as the alpha dogs. But those are just legends. Those are just stories…but you won't be. Because when that bell rings and Lance sends out his first Pokemon, and we _know_ it'll be Haxorus, you're going to be the epitome of a legend: you're going to _wrestle a Dragon._ And you're going to _win._" He said.

He walked over to Excadrill.

"You're the loudest of us, yet the smallest of us." He said. "It's easy to see why you're in this. You're a pipsqueak, something to be made fun of. You're not a _real _Steel-type. They're gonna mock you. They're gonna say that you're Dragon food. But they underestimate your heart. They underestimate your agility. They will certainly underestimate your bravery. For when that Salamence swoops too close to the ground, you're going to live out a fantasy of your own: _You're going to ride a Dragon._ And you're gonna _ground_ it. You will ride it like a wild Rapidash, and you will drive its snout into the dirt. And from the top of its back, you will stand taller than anything in this world." He said.

He walked to Aggron. Steven noticed that there was confusion in Trodaire's face.

"But it's you that keeps me up at night, big guy." He said. Aggron looked almost offended, but instead of Trodaire apologizing, he just looked sad. "That's precisely why. You've got the biggest chip on your shoulder, one that dwarfs everything else about you. You're touchy about your size, you're touchy about your strength. When someone questions your ability, your first response is to cripple them or fly into a rage. You're not having fun, are you? It's all about purging a demon, isn't it?" He asked. Aggron looked thoughtful, and Trodaire took this as a sign to continue. "I know a thing or two about what happens to Pokemon that look to fight because they have something to prove or that they have a message to send. There's no joy. It's all…monstrous." Trodaire looked challenging. "When the time comes for you to knock Dragonite out, what happens then? Are you going to acknowledge that you've won and then walk away like a champion? Or are you gonna put his face on all of this crap that you've got swimming in your head and let it all out on him? Because if you do that, you're not a champion. You're not something to be proud of. You'll be just another bully, no worse than the demons you're trying to purge with a win." He looked at Aggron and smiled for the first time. "I just need you to do one thing, big guy: let it go. Let it all go. Let the hate, insecurity, fear, worry, rage, anxiety…let it all just go. Cut it free, and you'll be a champion. Because cutting those demons free lets something else in instead. It'll let in confidence and peace of mind. _Trust_. And that trust…it's gonna, it's gonna be like this little angel whispering in your ear, and it's gonna say…" Trodaire suddenly shouted. "**Get UP, you son of a bitch! I didn't hear no bell!** So get up _and FIGHT_…" His features softened and his voice lowered to a near-whisper. "…cause Trodaire loves ya."

It was in that moment that Steven and Cynthia realized that Trodaire was crying a little bit.

"You guys have been a godsend for me." He said. "You all took a chance on little old me, a bum from the dust of Orre, and now look at you. You're on the cusp of the greatest upset in the history of Pokemon battling. Because when that match starts, and you lay the first lasting shots on those Dragons…everyone is gonna see that you don't think that you're in a show. You think you're in a damned fight. A damned fight that you can win. Because you don't care what anyone else thinks. The world can go buzz off for all you care. Because one week from now, forget Lance and the legendary Dragons: YOU will be…_the greatest Pokemon team alive._"

He let the silence extend even longer this time.

"That's all I've got for today." He said. "I'll see you tomorrow." He said with a smile. Steven nodded, and let his trio back into their Pokeballs. When they were gone, he smiled.

"Trodaire, I didn't even know who you were a few months ago." He said. "I didn't know if it was gonna be worth it." He gave the Orrean a bear hug. "Well, I don't care if I win or lose right now, because I know I've won at least one thing out of this: a new friend." He said.

"Me too." Cynthia said. She smiled sweetly. "Now do us a favor and just take the day off, will you? Try to have some fun today. It'll be good for you, I promise." She winked, and then she and Steven walked out of the Fight Club hand in hand. Trodaire watched them leave, and then turned to Paulie.

"Watch the Fight Club, Paulie. I gotta run an errand." He said.

"Yeh can count on me, Troddie!" Paulie said cheerily.

Trodaire smiled at this old man who had been a cherished new friend since he'd come to Kanto, and then walked out the door. As he closed it behind him, he turned around…

…only to see Sabrina once again standing about two feet in front of him.

"_Arceus __**DAMN **_it!" Trodaire shouted. "Will you stop doing that, please?" He asked. To his surprise, Sabrina smiled a little bit, and grabbed him by the hand.

"We're going on a field trip!" She said. Trodaire blinked.

"Huh?" He asked. Sabrina threw a Pokeball, and out came Abra. Sabrina looked at the young Pokemon, and smiled.

"Take us to meet Misty's friend Chip Skarmory." She said. Trodaire's eyes widened as the air began to glow around them.

"Wait, _the _Chip Skarmory? I've always wanted-"

There was a flash, and they were gone.

_**SABRINA**_

They reappeared inside a large arena, where Chip was standing in the center of the ring. He had been told by Spice that her friend Sabrina liked to make an entrance, but even he couldn't expect the two of them teleporting in on an Abra.

"-his autograph!" Trodaire said. He looked around in shock, and then saw Chip. "Wow! You're Chip Skarmory!"

Chip was wearing sweatpants, a baggy t-shirt with a Pokeball logo in the middle, as well as a winter beanie on his head. This was his typical announcer uniform, and the fans loved him for it.

"In the flesh, baby!" He said. "And after I get down video-blogging my thoughts on this place, I'll take care of that autograph for you, buddy." He smiled. "Speaking of which, I left my video camera in the break room. I'll be back in a bit. Take in the sights, you two!" He said quickly, leaving in a flash. If Sabrina wasn't too busy staring at the way Trodaire was gawking at the interior of the stadium, she would have thought he left a little _too_ quickly, as if he was hoping for something to happen. But for once, her perceptive abilities weren't at their sharpest.

"What are you doing?" She asked. Trodaire was silently staring around the massively spacious arena. This was Center Court, _the_ battlefield where legends were born. And he was right in the middle of it.

"Looking." Trodaire said. Sabrina nodded, taking a step towards him.

"That's it? Are you that impressed with yet another arena?" She asked. "Because at the end of the day, the size of the ring is no different than your standard sanctioned match ring."

When Trodaire looked at her, she stopped cold.

"I've never been inside a sanctioned arena before." He said. No longer was he that big Orrean that had beaten up those punks on a rainy evening to defend the honor of the Pokemon of a gym leader he'd never met before: now he was a little kid. He was a little kid at Christmas, having discovered that all of the presents under the tree were for him. "Thanks for bringing me here." He said. Sabrina blushed.

"Oh…it…it was nothing." She said.

There was a long, awkward silence. Trodaire was staring up at the lights, lost in thought. Then he spoke.

"We can't beat him." He said finally. This admission was said softly, but it was so jarring that Sabrina had to stare at him.

"What?" She asked. Trodaire looked at her sadly. The kid at Christmas face was gone.

"I've trained Steven's team to their peak, Sabrina." He said. "There is literally no ceiling higher for them. And we won't be able to beat him." He said. "I gave them a speech earlier today to give them hope, and while they believe it I'm sure…I don't."

"Why not?" Sabrina asked, moving closer to him so that they weren't at an awkwardly long distance away. At least, that was what her rationale was. In reality, they were now almost uncomfortably close. Not that either noticed.

Or minded.

"Because…I don't know." Trodaire said. "I'm out of their league. Steven might even be out of their league, but Arceus bless his heart he has the greatest team beside him and a woman who loves him. He's planning to propose to her after the match. Did you know that? Because he told me yesterday over a text. He thinks that it will be the right time. He's that certain that he's going to do that impossible and win. I've filled him with more confidence now than he's ever had in his entire life. Cynthia says she's never seen him happier. Steven Stone is _back._ And I'm terrified, Sabrina. I really am. I just wish that I'd given myself some of the same confidence that I've given him."

"Do you think he's foolish to believe in you?" She asked. "That he's foolish to dream?"

"No." Trodaire said after a pause. "I don't think he's foolish. I just can't climb over the mountain that he has. He's got his friends and his family and his soon-to-be wife. I don't have anyone to fall back on for support if this goes belly-up." He stared at her. "I might not believe that I'm a bum from the dust of the earth anymore thanks to you," he smiled. "But I'm still alone. That's how I feel, anyway."

Sabrina took a step closer to him. They were now about a foot apart.

"You're not alone, Trodaire." She said. "You couldn't be further from that." Trodaire smiled.

"Thanks, Sabrina. I appreciate you trying to make me feel bett-" He was cut off.

"No, listen to me." She said. "You coming into my town was the worst day of my life. Nothing could ever top that moment in its soul-crushing frustration. You were dressed in khaki pants and a polo shirt because you couldn't afford a real suit and tie. I was all ready to bulldoze that stupid dojo and turn it into a salon for my Psychics…and you snatched it right out from under my nose." She said. Trodaire raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you telling me thi-" Again he was silenced.

"Not finished." She said. "You directly challenge my authority when Whitney came into your Club looking to commit second-degree murder. You flagrantly commit assault against a group of punks because they had dared to hurt a defenseless Pokemon. You take my orders to resurrect a dull and dying tradition at the Expo and turn it into a marvel of choreography and excitement. You're taking a Steel-type Master and facing him off against the greatest trainer alive except for that one Boy, and by Arceus there's a chance you could pull it all off. And I've been there watching it every step of the way. You're kind, you're sweet, you're honorable and my friends can't stop talking about you to me. Nor for that matter can I." She said. "And I've come to realize that…" She trailed off. "To realize that…" She blushed furiously. "That…" She stuttered, unable to get the words out. Concerned, Trodaire leaned towards her.

"That what?" He asked. "That I'm crazy?" He asked. Sabrina rolled her eyes.

"_Arceus,_ you're clueless." She said.

She threw her arms around his neck and gave him the biggest kiss she'd ever given anyone in her entire life. It was also the first kiss she'd given anyone in her entire life. Trodaire went rigid, clearly stunned at this turn of events, before returning the gesture. It went like that for a few moments, just the two of them, before they broke away. Sabrina looked at the Orrean in front of her, who had a comically dazed expression on his face.

"You…still haven't answered the question." He said in a strangely warbled voice, with a goofy grin on his face. Sabrina smiled.

"I've come to realize that I care about you, Trodaire Phoenix. And if nothing else, you aren't alone. You've got me." She said. Trodaire looked at her and smiled back.

"I…I guess so." He said. His smile widened. "I like that." He said. Then, he looked thoughtful. "You know, I don't think I've ever told you what my name means." He said. Sabrina was interested.

"Oh yeah? What is that?" She asked. Trodaire smiled.

"'Trodaire' is old Orrean for 'Fighter.' I guess you could say that my name is 'Fighter Phoenix.'" He said with a grin. Sabrina thought it over.

"Yeah, that fits you to a tee." She said. She pulled him back in for another kiss.

Meanwhile, several countries away, floating in the corner of a little office room, a cat-like Pokemon opened its eyes from its meditative trance. With a smile, it thought one thought and one thought only.

_If I may say so, Madam Sabrina, it's about damned time._

There was a momentary pause, as only the psychic void responded back to him. Then, a thought filtered through to him, though this thought was clouded with many other thoughts of passion and happiness.

_Oh shut up, Alakazam._

Alakazam smiled.

A/N: I'm not kidding, ladies and gentlemen. "Trodaire" is Gaelic for "Fighter," and his name is thus "Fighter Phoenix." Yeah, he's pretty much Awesome McCoolname.

…

So ONE of the two main storylines looks like it is wrapped up, folks. That only leaves…

Oh my God.

THE BATTLE.

I promise you this, after many chapters of teasing it….

The next chapter is the start of the World Tournament.

IT HAS BEGUN.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

A few things for these chapters: I am alluding to a certain sport based on the entrances of the trainers during the tournament, and I want you to guess which athletes in question I am alluding to. (Don't worry, answers are at the bottom of the chapter.)

Second, wanna have an idea of what Chip Skarmory sounds like in the booth? He's got the voice of The Announcer from Pokemon Stadium 1 and 2! Good luck not reading his sections in that nameless announcer's breathless voice. (They will be indicated by "*" at the beginning and ending of his section. Think of it as a radio feed)

_**CHIP**_

Chip Skarmory, despite his rather lackadaisical approach to dressing, was no slouch when it came to preparation. Though he was a cult hero amongst casual Pokemon battle fans for his exuberant attitude during matches, in reality this was the first time that the powers that be had caved in and given him the assignment of calling the World Tournament. Solo. He hadn't really been able to sleep in the days since his posting of his video blog. The various comments of people already giddy with excitement over what kind of performances they would see and what kind of calls they would hear did nothing to ease his nerves. Thus, though the main events weren't for another few hours, Chip was already at the booth preparing his notes.

The announcer's table was situated right in front of the ring where the match would take place, with a shatterproof glass enclosure to protect the man inside from any collateral damage, especially from Pokemon that liked to use attacks that caused residual damage. Chip tapped the glass in front of him, and shuddered. He didn't care how many times he had been assured that this stuff was strong enough to take punches from a fully-grown and enraged Machamp. All it would take was one direct hit from a Hyper Beam and he was toast. Then again, if he was a sissy he never would have taken this job in the first place.

Confident that the notes he'd compiled and researched for the past few months were set in place, he put on his headset and turned on the same console under the desk at his knees. He heard the pleasant beeping noise to indicate that he was on the air, and then began to speak.

*_Good afternoon, ladies and gents! This is Chip Skarmory, coming to you live across the globe from Center Court here at the World Tournament! It is the crown jewel of the battling season, where the best of the best face off against each other to see who will be crowned World Champion?*_

Chip grabbed one of the sheets of paper he'd laid out, and as he continued to speak he would occasionally glance at it for reference.

*_For those of you unfamiliar with the rules, just a reminder that no Regional Championship titles are at stake here. The only thing that matters is the World Champion Title, which has been held by Lance from Kanto for the past two years. And even then, the only reason __he__ holds the belt is due to the Boy from Mount Silver declining to take part in the last two World Tournaments. So naturally, one of the biggest stories of the tournament is: can Lance legitimately hang onto his belt if faced off against his greatest rival? The last time that they faced each other was __ten__ years ago, folks! And during that battle, Lance was upstaged and cast down by the young man from Pallet Town who has developed a cult-like following from his legions of fans. Needless to say, many analysts have those two in their final bracket._

_And speaking of the bracket, the powers that be have divided it like so: the Legend Division has Cynthia Shirona of Sinnoh against Gary Oak of Kanto, as well as Iris of Unova versus the Boy from the Mountain. In the Phenom Division, we have Alder from Unova undertaking his farewell tour from competitive battling against Wallace of Hoenn, as well as Steven Stone of Hoenn against Lance from Kanto._

_It's that last match that has a lot buzz gathering. Despite the predictions that Lance will win this round, there has been a steady wave of people who are believing that Steven Stone might have a chance to pull off the greatest upset in tournament history! Stone's record against Lance is currently oh-fer-five, but by no means does that indicate that he should be written off-*_

_**TRODAIRE**_

Annoyed, Trodaire turned off Chip's commentary from the radio as it turned to analyzing Steven's chances. The Orrean knew that eventually Chip might make an off-handed comment about him, but that wasn't the point. The point was to profile Steven and make _him_ the star. Currently, all anyone had done was make the circumstances of the match itself the true star, not Steven himself. Which Trodaire just didn't think was fair.

It was four hours before the match. Trodaire and Steven's group had arrived in Unova two days prior, to get everyone settled and acclimated to the World Tournament atmosphere with enough time to spare. Sabrina had texted Trodaire that she and her group of friends would be arriving early to wish _him_ luck, because they knew that Steven and his team needed to focus. Trodaire had smiled. They wanted to wish _him, _the coach of the trainer, luck. That was kind of them, if a little mis-guided. But then again, if it meant seeing Sabrina again…

He was distracted from his thoughts by a buzzing on his PokeGear. Grabbing it, he flipped it open.

_Hey _

He smiled.

**Hey to you too.**

…

_You nervous?_

…

**You have no idea.**

…

_Well, not to be unforgiving, but you had better get that out of your system now. Otherwise, the entrances are gonna give you a heart attack._

Ah, yes. The entrances. A good portion of what made League-sanctioned matches so entertaining was the spectacle that came with them. Sometimes, the matches themselves were dwarfed by the entrance of the trainers involved. Choreographies of music, lighting, and the roar of the crowd served just as much of a psych-out as a well-tuned team, and Steven knew this.

"We need something to show everyone that I'm not afraid of Lance." He had said on the last day they were in Kanto.

"Like what?" Trodaire asked. Steven shrugged.

"It's not the spectacle part: Cynthia has something simple yet powerful for that. I just need a good song to help convey the idea that I think Lance is over-hyped." He said. Trodaire smirked.

"Pretty ballsy of you, bud. Got any ideas?" He asked. At this, Steven fell flat.

"I don't…" He said weakly. Then, there was a chuckle.

"I think I can helps yehs!" Paulie giggled, throwing in an old CD into the CD player that he'd encouraged Trodaire to put in the gym a few weeks prior. The power tool-like squealing of the guitars, coupled with the fiery lyrics and the message behind them, caused both Trodaire and Steven to turn to each other in unison and say:

"That's the one."

**Relax, Rina. What's the worst that could happen?**

…

_CLEARLY you've never seen one of Lance's entrances._

…

**What's so special about them?**

…

_They're scary._

…

**Scary? You find them scary?**

…

_Normally I'd agree with you and chalk it up to me being unreasonable, but Lance…look, put it this way. As awkward as Lance was at that gala a few weeks ago, that's how intimidating he becomes when he enters the ring._

…

**Wow. What's the effect on the crowd?**

…

_Words simply cannot describe it, Trodaire. They go berserk._

…

**We'll handle it.**

…

_I know you will. That's why I'm rooting for you. _

…

**I thought you were rooting for me for another reason… **

…

_Shh…we'll talk about that later. _

He heard the door open behind him, and saw that a young girl had entered the break room. She was dark-skinned, with a massive head of hair that Trodaire had to give credit to. Keeping all of that upright must take _forever_ in preparation. She glanced over at him and smiled.

"Hi there! You here for one of the battles?" She asked. Trodaire nodded.

"Yeah, I'm here for the last battle of the day." He said. The girl giggled.

"Ooh, the Lance-Steven matchup! That's gonna be a good one!" She said. Trodaire raised an eyebrow.

"You think so? Who you got winning?" He asked. He already knew her answer. It was just a matter of her actually saying it.

The girl paused, and put a finger to her chin in thought.

"Well, I think that Lance is going to win in the end…but I want Steven to win! It'd be so cool for him to get into the semi-finals! Then I might get to go up against him!" That last sentence made Trodaire pause.

"Go up against him?" He asked in confusion. The girl giggled again.

"I'm one of the competitors, silly!" She said. She extended a hand. "Iris, current champion of Unova. Nice to meet you!" She said. Trodaire wordlessly shook her hand, stunned at his bizarre luck at randomly encountering pillars of the battle community left and right throughout his travels to Unova. He half expected the Boy from the Mountain to walk through the door at any moment.

Instead of that happening, what instead happened was Cynthia and Steven walking through the front door. Iris turned to them and waved.

"Hi Mr. Steven! Hi Miss Cynthia!" She said. Cynthia and Steven smiled back.

"Hello to you too, you little champion." Cynthia said warmly. "Ready for your big match-up?" She asked. Iris looked determined.

"You betcha! I'm gonna kick Gary Oak's stupid butt!" She said.

There was an awkward pause. Iris looked around.

"What?" She asked. Cynthia and Steven exchanged a nervous look.

"You…didn't look at the revised card, did you?" Cynthia asked. Trodaire watched in amazement as Iris' excited look turned to worry in a nanosecond.

"No…who did I get matched against?" She asked. Steven sighed.

"You got him." He said. Iris instantly knew who he was talking about.

"NOOOOOOO!" She wailed, tears threatening to form. "I wanted to get through the first round this year! He's gonna roll me up and smoke me like a pipe!" She said despairingly. Trodaire found it remarkable that the girl was barely a teenager and she was already using such a creatively specific simile. He was also confused.

"That's it? You're just gonna act like he's beaten you already?" He asked. Iris looked at him confused. Trodaire's gaze hardened. "That's exactly what he _wants _you to do!" He said. "You should tell your team to go out there and hit his team as hard as you can! Make him work for every last battle! But whatever you do, don't just give up!" He said. Iris sniffled once.

"You…you think so?" She asked. Trodaire nodded.

"I know so!" He said. At that moment, a League official walked in the room.

"Five minutes to your battles, Ladies Iris and Cynthia!" He said, and then disappeared as soon as he had entered. Cynthia turned to Steven and smiled.

"That's my cue. I'll see you on the other side." She said. She kissed him on the cheek (Iris made a face), and then walked through the tunnel towards her battle court. She had been assigned one of the side courts, and judging from the roar of the crowd in the distance, Alder's match against Wallace had just ended. That meant that Iris would soon be taking the ring against the Boy. That left Center Court, the MAIN EVENT as Chip Skarmory had breathlessly put it earlier in the day, open for Steven and Trodaire. Both girls had left, and that left the two men sitting in the break room. Highlights of the Alder-Wallace match were playing on a TV in the background (Alder had won, though that wasn't really a surprise), but neither of them was watching. They were both sitting on the couch in the break room, silently staring at the wall.

"So, this is it." Trodaire said.

"Yup." Came Steven's reply.

"Five hard months." Trodaire continued.

"All of it boils down to this." Steven finished.

"Did you send in the instructions for your entrance?" Trodaire asked. Steven nodded.

"Yeah. The guy thought that it was a little bit simplistic for the World Tournament." He said. Trodaire snorted.

"We're not going for fancy-pants. We're hyping the crowd, we're establishing you as the fearless challenger, and we'll let Lance come out with the goofy pyrotechnics or whatever the hell he has." At this, Steven laughed. "What?" Trodaire asked.

"Trodaire, you are in for one hell of a whirl when Lance steps out onto the ring." Steven said. "The pop he's gonna get from the crowd is gonna be out of this world."

Trodaire didn't say anything, but instead silently went to work calming his nerves.

_**SABRINA**_

"OW! Hey, stop!"

"Quit squirming, this'll only take a minute!"

"That's what you said for Erika, and it took you a half hour to fix her hair!"

"My face feels sweaty…"

"Stop complaining, Erika!"

"Don't be so mean, Misty!"

"Don't be so NOSY, Janine!"

"Don't be so RUDE, Misty!"

"**QUIET." **Sabrina finally shouted in her amplified voice, the stress having broken her patience. The quartet of them, Janine, Misty, Erika and Sabrina were sitting in a Unova hotel room four hours before the big match getting ready, and it was already suiting up to be a disaster. Misty had insisted on dying everyone's hair with streaks of silver ("Cuz silver is the color of Steel, DUH!" Misty had said when questioned), and that had taken forever. Erika had brought streamers, though none of them could figure out when they would light the things. (Janine thought before Steven ran out, while Misty argued for after). And Sabrina had brought ear plugs, knowing that eventually this set-up was going to lead to a silly squabble. She sighed heavily.

"Guys, is all of this stuff really that necessary?" She was met with an in-unison shout of YES from all three girls, and sighed again. She really hoped that Trodaire was doing ok. She let her mind wander and began to daydream, of Steven pulling off a miracle upset, of people going berserk and storming the ring, of her and Trodaire getting caught up in the flurry of people and being next to each other, of sharing a kiss at Center Court…

She shook that last one out of her head. He needed to focus, and if he needed to focus then so did she. So with a deep breath, she went back to trying to deal with her rapidly thinning patience for her three rather juvenile friends.

**THREE HOURS LATER**

There was one hour left. One hour before the beginning of the end. During the break, Trodaire and Steven had gotten to watching the TV in the corner of the room to watch the battle between Cynthia and Gary (There had been no cable feed for the battle between Iris and the Boy from the Mountain, though they heard that he had beaten all of her Pokemon without losing a single one of his). They had cheered with each and every moment that went in Cynthia's favor, and were ecstatic that she had pulled off the win. The flabbergasted look on Gary Oak's face just sealed the deal. Steven had let his three guys out to stretch their legs and try to loosen up, but there was to be no other forms of preparation. Once they hit the ring, any "coaching" went out the window and was replaced with "whatever you remember, that's what you do."

"Penny for your thoughts." Steven said after another twenty minutes of silence. Trodaire shrugged.

"What more is there to say? What more is there that we can train? We're as ready as we're ever going to be, Steven. And all we can do is hope that that's good enough." He said. He was surprised to feel Steven's arm clap him on the shoulder.

"Win or lose, it's been awesome Trodaire. I'm glad to have you as my friend." Steven said. Trodaire smiled.

"Glad to call you mine, Steven." He said.

And so it went, until the same official told them that it was time to get ready for their entrance to Center Court. They looked at each other, nodded in determination, and followed the man to their stations for the entrance.

For five months, they had been building hurting bombs.

Now, it was time to launch them.

_**CHIP**_

The stands were absolutely jam-packed. They'd filled up about an hour and a half ago, and for the past twenty minutes or so Chip had been taking pictures with some of the fans and/or signing autographs. Each and every time, Chip had asked them who they thought was going to win the fight. Roughly eighty to ninety percent of them said Lance. That didn't really surprise him. He lost count of the number of Dragonite T-Shirts on little kids in the stands, and even on some adults. He glanced at the jumbotrons at both ends of the ring and gazed down the walkways that came from each of them. Steven would come out to his left and would be first, while Lance would come out to his right and be last. Chip could hardly contain his excitement when he saw that the countdown was to one minute, and hastily turned on his headset.

*_Gooooooood evening ladies and gentlemen! This is Chip Skarmory and we are live around the world here at Center Court at the Pokemon World Tournament! I'm sitting here at courtside ready for the entrances of our two combatants, Lance from Kanto and Steven Stone of Hoenn, and I have to say that the roof is ready to blow OFF of this place! We are standing room only here at Center Court, and the crowd has begun the countdown! Ten seconds left before the entrance of the challenger! Nine, eight seconds left! Seven! Six!*_

"**FIVE!"**

"**FOUR!"**

"**THREE!"**

"**TWO!"**

"**ONE!"**

There was a buzzer noise that echoed throughout the arena, and the crowd fell silent. And then it happened.

First, silence. And then, a rush of static. Followed by an absolutely metal guitar line. The jumbotron to the left began to show a high-speed montage of sparks, flames and steel apparatus being constructed. As the drums and the rest of the band kicked in, the lyrics rocked the stadium as the crowd went nuts.

_**Look in my eyyyyyyes, what do you see?**_

_**THE CULT OF PERSONALITY!**_

_*And there's Steven Stone making his entrance!*_

Amidst a shooting off of fireworks from the base of the jumbotron, Steven Stone sprinted down the walkway towards the platform where he would be commanding his team. He stood there at the end of the walkway, basking in the flashing lights of countless cameras and the roars of the crowd, before throwing up one arm and waving to his fans.

_**I know your anngeeeerr! **_

_**I know your dreeeams!**_

_**I've been everything you wanna be!**_

_**Ohhh, I'm THE CULT OF PERSONALITY!**_

*_Steven Stone has pulled out all of the stops in making this entrance, ladies and gentlemen! It's a head-banging entrance and I can't help but rock out along with the audience! Oh yeah!*_

_**Like Dragon Riders! Flying high to see!**_

_**IIIIIII'm The CULT OF PERSONALITY!**_

_**THE CULT OF PERSONALITY!**_

_**THE CULT OF PERSONAAAAALITYY!**_

_*Oh my, ladies and gentlemen, Steven Stone is setting a message with this song! He is sending a direct message to the man he is going up against and the very lineage that he represents! It is sending chills down my spine!*_

_**Neon Lights! Nobel Prize!**_

_**When a mirror speaks, the reflection LIIIIEEES!**_

_**You won't have to folloowww meeeee!**_

_**Only YOU, can set. You. Freeeeeee!**_

_*But where is Steven's team? He hasn't shown he has his Pokeballs and-wait a second, he's pointing to the screen entrance from whence he came and-OH MY GOODNESS, THERE THEY ARE!*_

As the crowd went nuts, the three Pokemon that Steven had chosen raced out from the sparkling fireworks and streamers to join their master. And in the middle of them, leading the charge with a look of exuberance and determination on his face, was Trodaire Phoenix.

_*And what a class move by Steven Stone! His team has run out to meet him led by the man that Steven Stone has entrusted his title hopes towards: the young "trainer of Champions," Trodaire Phoenix! And Steven and Trodaire are going through a complex handshake maneuver, followed by a jumping chest-bump! BOOM! And Trodaire has sprinted off to the side of Steven's platform where he can bark encouragement to his boss. Wow, what a way to introduce the challenger, Steven Stone of Hoenn!*_

The music trailed off. The only sound was the cheering of the crowd. Then the two jumbotrons began a countdown that the crowd once again eagerly joined in.

"**FIVE!"**

"**FOUR!"**

"**THREE!"**

"**TWO!"**

"**ONE!"**

But when it hit zero, no buzzer noise went off.

Instead, the arena plunged into darkness.

The crowd let out a terrified/exhilarated scream, and continued to bristle with excitement. From his post to Steven's side, Trodaire was confused. What was going on here? Wasn't Lance supposed to be making his entrance-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a roar. But not just any roar. Very few people had ever been lucky enough to see this elusive creature, let alone catch a glimpse of it. But the Dragon Clan were no ordinary people. They had befriended this creature, and had captured an audio recording of its prideful roar. A roar that filled the stadium and sent the crowd into a near rabid-frenzy.

Rayquaza.

Then, just as soon as its roar echoed through the stadium, it was gone. In its place, there was a haunting, druidic singing that filled the air.

_*What on earth is going ON here?*_

From the depths of the jumbotron emerged seven figures. Six of them were hooded in thick robes, each carrying a long and burning torch with flame. There were three on each side, clearly making a tunnel. Other than the ultraviolet light emitting from below the walkway, their flame was the only thing that illuminated the stadium save for random camera flashes. And walking in the middle of the tunnel, holding a belt of Pokeballs high for all to see.

*_Oh my Arceus on high, it's Clair! Clair is walking out in the middle of this surreal procession, as smoke fills the air and the flames burn brightly! What is going on?*_

Clair reached the end of the walkway, holding the belt high. She stared through the ethereal smoke and flame with nothing but contempt for the two men that her cousin was facing, before pivoting and turning her back to them. She continued to hold the belt high. The Dragon acolytes in their robes had finished their procession, and had turned to face one another across the line. Three acolytes on each side, holding their torches low like a tunnel of hellish flame. Trodaire could fee his heart beating in wild anticipation.

_***BWONG***_

If the crowd had gone crazy during Steven's entrance, they proceeded to go absolutely insane at this noise. A gong, striking a note like that from the pits of hell.

_***BWONG***_

The sound of a hellish organ and the haunting wails of women, a clap of thunder in the background. All in the background of that Arceus-damned gong. It was all rising to a crescendo, and now the crowd's screaming had reached a fever pitch. Trodaire looked down the way and saw why.

_*Oh my Arceus!*_

For though the far jumbotron had gone completely unnervingly white with static, there was a figure that stood at its base. Illuminated by the pale glow, it looked like a shadowy silhouette. But there was no mistake. As the music came together for the chorus, Lance had arrived.

It was the sound of a funeral march from hell, with the trumpets and organ combining for a disturbingly awesome and beautiful sound while an electric guitar softly played power chords in the background. It was haunting. It was mighty. It was perfect for the entrance of the Crown Jewel of the Dragon Clan.

Lance walked slow. Unnervingly slow. Each step seemed in perfect choreography with the music. He no longer looked like the unassuming and nervous man that had spoken at the gala those months ago at the Indigo Plateau. Here he was a titan, and all the world was his witness to greatness. Trodaire had to remind himself to breathe. As Lance walked through the tunnel of fire, each pair of Acolytes lifted their flames as if to signify him worthy of their passage. Lance reached the end of the line as the music began to fade.

_***BWONG***_

Only it was clear that it was just getting ready to rise again. Clair and Lance stared at each other for a few moments.

_***BWONG***_

At the second ringing of the bell, they nodded in unison and Clair handed him the belt. He lightly weighed it in his hand, before smirking and climbing up the steps to his platform as the music hit its crescendo one last time. He stood there, silently and menacingly, all the confidence and power in the world on his side.

And it was in that moment that Trodaire realized what Sabrina had been talking about when she said that he was the one they all feared. And then he realized another thing:

He didn't give a flying shit.

"BRING IT IN!" He shouted to the three Pokemon next to him. As the music died down and Steven and Lance continued their glaring contest, Trodaire rallied the troops.

"Listen to me!" He said. "We've been working too damned hard to let something like that get to us! Now hear this! Armaldo, you're gonna wake this crowd up and wake that damned Dragon Master up by picking up his Haxorus and by ARCEUS you are gonna plant him in the ground like a tree! Excadrill, you are gonna ride and break a Dragon and you KNOW it! And you, Aggron, _tonight you end the legend of the Dragonite_. Rock em on three! One! Two! Three!"

"Armaldo."

"Driiiilll!"

"AGGRON!"

*_And the atmosphere of this place has mellowed slightly after those incredible entrances by both Steven and Lance. The head referee has come out and laid the ground rules for both fighters. Steven and Lance have chosen their starting Pokemon and-LADIES AND GENTLEMEN HERE WE GO!*_

"Go, Armaldo!"

"Go, Haxorus."

It had begun.

A/N: In case you couldn't tell, that whole chapter was a long love letter to the grandiose entrances of Professional Wrestling in the WWE. Other than changing up one line of the song, Cult of Personality is the entrance music for…CM Punk. Except Steven isn't a grand-standing $$hole like he is. While Lance's music? His is that of Mark Caloway, AKA **THE UNDERTAKER**. Rather symbolic, no?

If you want a better idea of the atmosphere in which Lance made his entrance, simply Youtube Wrestlemania 20-Kane vs The Undertaker. You won't be disappointed.

Ok, folks. Enough silly filler and "plot." Now it's time for the MAIN EVENT! Armaldo versus Haxorus! Who will strike first? Who will win the battle, Steven or Lance? Find out on the next heart-pounding chapter of THE FIGHT CLUB.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

Chip Skarmory's commentary will be denoted by a "*" at the beginning and the end. (Example: *_Oh, it's Magmar!*)_

Crowd reactions will be **BOLDED AND UNDERLINED**

_*Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot tell you how excited I have been for this match-up, and needless to say it is not disappointing! After some titanic entrances by our competitors, the first members of their team have taken the ring! Representing Steven Stone as his first competitor is Armaldo, the dual Rock-Bug type Pokemon. And on Lance's side making its professional debut is his Haxorus, one of the rare Pure Dragon types out there. I have to say, folks, this is the matchup that I have been waiting months for, as well as the rest of the Pokemon battling community. After such a long time, it is finally here! Lance versus Steven Stone!*_

"Armaldo, go in for the Tackle!" Steven shouted. Though Steven Stone was a suave and cool individual in regular settings and in boardroom meetings discussing the future of Devon Corp, when out on the battlefield his mannerisms were like that of a man who had drank a gallon of energy drinks right before the match. A man who was just now feeling the caffeine overload.

His trusty Pokemon nodded, and began charging towards Haxorus. From his position on his platform, Lance's stern expression didn't change.

"Haxorus, Counter the Tackle and give it a Reversal." He said coolly. His voice had barely risen above standard speaking volume, and yet Haxorus heard it clearly. The Axe Jaw Pokemon squatted down, and as soon as Armaldo got within striking distance it leaped. It grabbed Armaldo by one of its arms, and began to swing Armaldo around like it was a discus before releasing Armaldo's arm and causing Steven's Pokemon to go careening into the turnbuckle in the corner of the ring. Armaldo managed to void taking a serious shot to the chest on impact, but the sound was loud enough to draw an audible pop from the crowd.

"**OH!"**

_*That's kicking it old-school, ladies and gentlemen! Haxorus counters the Armaldo Tackle attempt with an old fashioned Reversal! That was a nasty-looking Irish whip there! Though Armaldo appears to have shaken it off almost immediately, and is back on its feet!*_

"Don't be aggressive!" Trodaire shouted up at Steven. "Haxorus is faster than Armaldo!" The Orrean felt sweat forming on the base of his neck.

Lance's cold expression remained unchanged. "Haxorus, use Slash." He said. The Dragon nodded, and with a wild battle cry it began lunging at Armaldo, brandishing claws that could turn a person into ribbons if it wasn't careful. Each and every time, Armaldo managed to dodge the Slash outright or just barely take any damage from glancing blows. _C'mon, you overgrown lizard…_ Steven thought desperately. _Show me the back. Show me your back…_

And in that moment, it happened. Haxorus, in its youthful eagerness to cut Armaldo in two, lunged too far with one strike and shifted too much of its weight to one side of its body. It stumbled over, and for a brief moment it was exposed. Steven saw the opportunity.

"Armaldo, Take Down!"

The Bug-Rock Pokemon barreled directly into Haxorus' chest.

*_Ohhh, what a spear by Armaldo! Capitalizing on the missed Slash by Haxorus to chain it into a brutal Take Down and-wait, what's Armaldo doing? Waitwaitwaitwait-OH MY ARCEUS ON HIGH!*_

"**HRRRRRR-AAAAHHHHHHHH!**"

Armaldo didn't give Haxorus the opportunity to get back on its feet. For as soon as it had finished the Take Down, Armaldo had stood over its fallen foe, bent over and wrapped its arms around Haxorus' waist. Then, with a roar, it had thrown itself over backwards and flipped Haxorus over its head. It was stupidly exaggerating to say that Armaldo had performed the greatest Seismic Toss suplex in the history of Seismic Tosses, but it would _not_ be exaggerating to say that it had come close.

_*I-I don't believe what I just saw! What a Seismic Toss, modified into a suplex! Armaldo is back on its feet for another round, but Haxorus is still rolling around on the ground in pain! That's what happens when all two hundred-some pounds of you come crashing face-first into the mat. And listen to this crowd! It's gone SILENT.*_

It was true, there was a hushed shock over the crowd. No one could believe what they had just seen. The first blow had been struck, and it had been _against_ Lance? A critical hit and now _Steven _was ahead of the game? The hushed murmuring began to grow into confused muttering, then excited chatter, before it broke out into full-on cheering.

_**SABRINA**_

"Look at Clair!" Misty shrieked over the roar of the crowd, pointing across the ring to the area where the Dragon Clan was sitting. Grandmaster Arach and the Dragon Council were all sitting there with passive expressions on their face (one could even say Arach looked slightly amused), but Clair was sitting in the middle of them like someone had doused her in ice-cold water and then slapped her right across the face. Which is to say, she looked _pissed._

Sabrina was too busy screaming and cheering to say anything back, but she had to admit that that _was_ worth it to see that smug confidence on Clair's face completely wiped off.

"Armaldo doesn't think this is a game!" Misty shouted. "He thinks it's a damned fight!"

Lance's expression was stone-cold.

"Haxorus, you're stronger than this." He said. "Get back up on your feet and show them that." Somehow, his seemingly soft voice cut through the white noise of the crowd perfectly. The golden Dragon nodded, and then swiftly leapt back to its feet. Lance smirked. "That's what I like to see. Now Dual Chop on Armaldo."

Haxorus' movements were silky and smooth, like an Ekans in the grass. Then, with the swiftness of a Swellow hunting Magikarp, it lunged. The first strike Armaldo managed to divert a little bit, taking the brunt of the hit on the shoulder. The second strike caught it right under the chin. It was sent staggering backwards, and Haxorus finished the sequence with an absolutely brutal Take Down.

*_Ohhh, what a counter by Haxorus! Just because you get a lucky strike on one of Lance's Pokemon doesn't mean that you're the victor yet! Haxorus is Lance's youngest Pokemon, and here it is proving it's more than capable of hanging with the big dogs! Wow, what a hit!_*

The crowd roared again. Lance had them back on his side. Steven felt sweat beginning to form on the back of his neck, as he began to formulate the best strategy next.

"Armaldo, get back on your feet buddy!" He shouted. His partner heard the command, and with an impressive display of resiliency got right back up. "Now show it that you slug harder! Get it with a Seismic Toss!"

Armaldo sprinted as fast as its legs could carry it towards Haxorus, whose ready stance indicated that it was not about to fall for the same trick twice. Neither would Lance.

"Get ready with the counter, Haxorus." He said.

Then, at the last second Steven shouted again.

"Strength!" He yelled.

Armaldo screeched to a stop, skidding forward towards Haxorus even though it had stopped moving its legs. This worked in Armaldo's favor, however, as it carried this momentum into its next move: Strength, modified into a brutal clothesline.

_*Gaaaahhhh! Haxorus goes down again! And once again Armaldo is standing on top of and grappling with the golden Dragon. It's taking a few defensive attacks, nothing to stagger it backwards though, and…uh oh! Armaldo's got Haxorus on its shoulders! It's carrying the Dragon like a fireman over its shoulders! Is it coming? Is it coming?*_

Steven felt another burst of adrenaline coming on. This was Armaldo's favorite thing to do in the gym.

"Bring it down! Seismic Toss!" He shouted. Armaldo let out a roar, and tossed Haxorus over its shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

*_BOOM! Armaldo finishes with the brutal Seismic Toss! And Haxorus landed hard on its back, and is writhing in pain on the ground. Uh oh, Armaldo is taking a couple of steps backwards! I think we all know what this means, so Lance you'd better get your Pokemon back up on its feet or else-*_

Armaldo ran back towards its fallen foe, and with a leap landed hard on top of its younger opponent, leading with its elbow.

_*BODY SLAM! BODY SLAM! This crowd is going bananas! What a blistering sequence of moves from Armaldo, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say that Haxorus doesn't have much left in it! What will the Champion do to turn the tables back in his favor?*_

"Don't let it get comfortable. Haxorus, show why you're my Dragon. Superpower, go."

Haxorus managed to climb back to its feet. Breathing heavily, it eyed Armaldo with annoyed eyes. It then took a deep breath, and with a cry of anger stomped on the ground hard. Once. Twice, three times. On the third stomp, it lunged towards Armaldo with superhuman speed and reflexes to tackle the Bug/Rock type head on. This being a flying tackle from at least ten to fifteen feet away, the crowd reacted appropriately. Which is to say, they went bonkers. Haxorus was glowing with a hazy light, a hazy light that was no doubt influencing its attack power. It proceeded to punch and stomp on the downed Pokemon below it, and all Armaldo could do was cover its head and jerk and twist out of the way so as to avoid getting knocked the heck out. Steven was sweating, and could almost feel his Pokemon's pain. All Armaldo needed to do was hang on 'till that Superpower wore off, and then…

*_Haxorus is giving Armaldo a BEATING out there folks! The Dragon is doing everything short of trying to beat its opponent to death with its own hands, but Armaldo's still showing signs of struggling out there! No one has made it through one of Haxorus' Superpower-ed beatdowns before! This could be the end for Armaldo, and Steven would be down one to one of the greatest trainers of all time!*_

"C'mon, hang in there big boy!" Trodaire shouted from the corner of the ring. He watched the two referees, one a human to make the calls and the other a fully-grown Machamp (both in the zebra stripe shirts) to separate the fighters. Haxorus was continuing to beat down Armaldo into the mat, and it looked like the Machamp was about to pull them apart and declare it a Haxorus win by way of technical knockout. But then the miracle happened.

The hazy aura surrounding Haxorus completely disappeared, and with that aura seemed to go the rest of Haxorus' strength. It staggered backwards away from Armaldo, its hands on its knees.

_*Oh boy, the Superpower has left the building and Haxorus is spent! But that won't really mean much as long as Armaldo-ARMALDO'S BACK ON ITS FEET! Armaldo's back on its feet, and RUNS HAXORUS OVER WITH THE TAKE DOWN! It's lying on top of Haxorus now with the cover and the referee Machamp is pulling it away. The main referee is there to judge the situation and-*_

"Haxorus is unable to battle!" The referee shouted.

_*TKO! TKO for Armaldo! Steven Stone has gotten the first strike on Lance and this crowd is-wait a second, listen to the crowd!*_

"_**STE-VEN STONE!"**_

"_**STE-VEN STONE!"**_

"_**STE-VEN STONE!"**_

_*They're cheering for Steven Stone! They're coming around to the underdog's side! Wow, what a start to this match! Lance is drawing his next Pokemon, who's it gonna be?"*_

"Take to the skies, Salamence." Lance said calmly. Trodaire noticed that there was a slightly frustrated look on the Dragon master's face, but knew that that wasn't enough to get him worried. There was a flash of light as Lance's Pokeball exploded, and a large and ornery-looking blue Dragon stepped out and let out a proud roar.

_*There's Salamence! Lance's Salamence is one of the slower Pokemon you'll see, but if you mention that to its face you're going to get a megaton of Dragon Rage in your face. It is SCARY strong! Wait, what's Steven doing?*_

"Take a breather, Armaldo! Return!" Steven shouted, calling back his Pokemon. He threw another Pokeball. "Go, Excadrill!"

There was a flash of light, and the mole-like Pokemon leapt out and gave a prideful holler. Lance raised an eyebrow.

"You have wings, Salamence. Use them. Fly."

Salamence nodded, and with a powerful flap of its wings took to the air. The sight of such a large creature hovering above was enough to get the crowd going berserk. Trodaire was intimidated. A being as cumbersome looking as a Salamence should not be allowed to fly. That was just cheating physics!

"Let's not waste any time, Salamence. Flamethrower." Lance said. From its vantage point in the sky, Salamence began spitting arrows of fire down at the mat towards Excadrill.

*_Incoming, ladies and gentlemen! Salamence is trying to burn Excadrill from afar with Flamethrower! Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?*_

Excadrill rolled out of the way of one Flamethrower, and then weaved in and out of the rest with a panicked expression on its face. This was not what it had signed up for, and Steven knew it.

"Keep dodging, Excadrill! It has to come down sometime!" Steven shouted. To his shock, Lance smirked.

"Does it? Well, Salamence, let's oblige Mr. Stone. From the sky, use Take Down."

With a giddy roar, Salamence charged downwards with the intention of spearing Excadrill into the mat. The Steel-type was standing down on the ground, waiting for its foe to come, when it made an incredibly risky (and stupid) decision. It jumped. It jumped in a way that Salamence's momentum carried it under the now-airborne Excadrill, and when the mole-like creature was pulled back down by gravity, it had the Arceus-given fortune of landing directly on Salamence's back. Like it was riding a Rapidash. It proceeded to dig its claws into the side of the beast. Hard.

"Shake it off, Salamence." Lance said. Trodaire noted a trace of worry in the Dragon Master's voice. Salamence yelped and spit out flame in anger, and nosedived again. This was an ill-thought plan, for it proceeded to smash itself into the ground instead. As it lay on the ground, Excadrill began launching a flurry of punches and bites and scratches to the thing it was stupid enough to ride on. Presently, Salamence came to, and with a roar lashed its tail onto its back in an effort to squash Excadrill. The little mole-like creature scurried away and clamped itself onto Salamence's underbelly, and the gigantic tail smacked nothing but its master. Salamence reared back in pain, and Excadrill took this opportunity to gut-punch the creature a few times for good measure.

"Get it off, Salamence!" Lance shouted. This was the first time that Trodaire had heard the Dragon Master raise his voice, and felt a trill of excitement in his chest. _They were getting to him._

*_I don't believe what I'm seeing here, folks! Excadrill has latched onto Salamence like a Joltik and is not content with beating the Dragon up itself! It's letting Salamence do the heavy lifting for it! Ooo, Salamence just smacked itself in the face with its tail in its confusion! That's gotta hurt!*_

"Keep pounding away, Excadrill!" Steven shouted, as Salamence took to the air once again to get this infernal creature off of it. Once again, Excadrill latched onto the creature's back, proceeding to punch and bite as much as it could. Enraged, Salamence once again tried the old "divebomb and catch the little thing in the collateral" routine. Because this had worked so well the first time, you see. And again, the result was identical to the beginning. Only this time, Excadril timed a jump so that when Salamence slammed into the ground, it was sent springboarding into the air like a Flying Pokemon itself. Excadrill got about fifteen feet into the air, before gravity once again called it back home. However, as it fell, it repositioned itself in midair so that it was spinning in midair like a drill. Faster, faster, faster…

_*AAAHHHH! Drill Run by Excadrill! And the mighty Salamence has fallen! Steven is up three to one against Lance! Listen to this crowd!*_

"_**THIS IS AWESOME!"**_

"_**THIS IS AWESOME!"**_

"_**STE-VEN STONE! STE-VEN STONE!"**_

Trodaire wasn't paying any attention to the crowd. Neither was Steven. They were both staring at Lance, who had a devilish smirk on his face. In his hand was a Pokeball. He smiled. It was not a nice smile. It was the smile of a man who enjoyed picking the wings off of flies. It was a cold, ruthless, confident smile. A smile born of a lifetime of winning countless battles and building a near-unstoppable reputation as one of if not the greatest trainers of all time. It sent shivers down Steven's back and made Trodaire Phoenix's blood run cold. This was it. All of their hocus-pocus and trickery and training to create a new form of battling were being put on trial right here. The show was over. And somehow, they had the horrible feeling that Lance was about to shut out the lights on it all.

"This has been a heck of a fight, Steven." He said. "You've obviously been doing your homework on how to battle my Haxorus and Salamence, so I'll give you that. Who'd have thought that I'd be two down and you haven't lost a single one yet? That's better than a storybook. But at the end of the day, you know that those are practically cheap parlor tricks that let you get the upper hand. But this one…" He was spinning the Pokeball on his fingertip, and the torrent of camera flashes in the audience meant that all knew the power that was inside. That and the absolutely ecstatic screaming. "This is not a Pokemon that can be beaten by flimsy little game-planning and luck."

"But you already knew that, didn't you? You've been dreading the moment I grabbed this off of my belt since the beginning of this battle. I'd wager you've been dreading it since you heard that you had to face me in the tournament. You can conceivably topple Salamence, you can outwrestle Armaldo, but this is the one that keeps you up at night. I can't blame you. He's kind of a big deal."

"_**BRING THE KING!"**_

"_**BRING THE KING!"**_

"_**BRING THE KING!"**_

"They know it too." Lance said of the crowd. "This old friend of mine is going to show to all of us whether you're truly better than me…or whether your luck has just run out. It's been a blast, but I think you and I know for better or for worse that this all ends here. Right now. Are you ready to go one last round with the Dragon Master and his champion?"

He threw the Pokeball to center stage, and it exploded in a flash of light.

"GO, DRAGONITE!"


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

Chip Skarmory's commentary will be denoted by a "*" at the beginning and the end. (Example: *_Oh, it's Magmar!*)_

Crowd reactions will be **BOLDED AND UNDERLINED**

There was a flash of light. And then, a flash of orange. It soared directly into the air, at a speed so fast that Trodaire could not even see it. The crowd let out a suitable yell of awe and excitement. The orange blur looped through the air, buzzing the crowd on the left side of the arena, and then on the right. And then, it slammed into the ground in front of Excadrill. When the dust settled, there it was. Resting comfortably on its three-point landing, eyes closed with what looked like a confident smirk on its face, was Lance's Dragonite.

*_Oh. My. Goodness! Making a stylish entrance is the big daddy of them all, the master of disaster, the colossus of clout, the undisputed people's champion…DRAGONITE!*_

Lance was right. Trodaire _had _been dreading this moment since the beginning of his time with Steven. Because, deep down, the champion was right. Trodaire was smart and clever at out-cuting an opponent with developing techniques that one could call all but fighting dirty. But he didn't have anything for this. Nothing. The Pokemon in front of him was the grand daddy of them all, and what was worse was that it knew it. Even the most casual of battle watchers knew about Dragonite. It was the single most famous Pokemon battler in the world. And it had only been defeated once, yet that had happened so long ago and so few people had actually witnessed it that that might as well have been a myth. A cooked up story in order to make Dragonite seem human, and in retrospect even more likeable. Otherwise, it would be like rooting for a god.

Currently, it wasn't really paying too much attention to the stadium that it was in. It let out a yawn, and stretched a little bit. It turned its neck to the side, hearing a satisfying _krrrck_. Then it looked over at the little Excadrill in front of it, and cocked its head to the side. Trodaire could practically read the big Dragon's thoughts. _This is the mope I have to go up against?_ It looked back at Lance as if to confirm that this was indeed its opponent.

_*If I didn't know any better folks, the way Dragonite is sizing up Excadrill, I'd say that the Dragon doesn't think that this is a fair fight!...for Excadrill. I'm getting a knot in my stomach, ladies and gentlemen. What's coming next?*_

"What do you say we even up the odds in our favor, old friend?" Lance asked. "You know what to do."

Dragonite rolled its eyes, as if to say in a bored tone _Oh, all right_. It then turned towards Excadrill, which was still bravely standing its ground against the much stronger opponent. Then, in a flash, Dragonite was gone. Trodaire blinked once in what was almost terror. Gone? How the hell could it just be gone? It had been there just a second ag-

_WHAM SMACK BANG THUD SMACK WHAM WHAM SMASH BANG_

Trodaire and Steven were treated to a surreal scene in front of them. There was Excadrill, getting battered and smacked around. But there was no opponent doing the punching. It was as if the little Drill Pokemon's opponent was the wind, and the wind was packing lead in its gloves. This shadow beat down lasted a good ten seconds, until once more there was an orange flash and Dragonite was standing in its original position again. Excadrill was lying facedown on the mat, battered and bruised and completely knocked the hell out. The Machamp ref ran over, turned to its human partner and threw up an "X" with its lower arms, which led the human ref to speak up.

"Excadrill is no longer able to battle! The winner is Dragonite!" He said.

The crowd exploded.

*_Ahhhhhhh what did I just witness? Good Arceus almighty, as the Legendaries are my witness, Excadrill was beaten to a pulp by a ghost! I-I couldn't even see Dragonite use that Extremespeed take down! Oh my goodness!*_

_**SABRINA**_

The Psychic master felt her throat go dry. She kept blinking and shaking her head, as if she'd been watching a bad nightmare. But it was real. It was real and Dragonite really did move that fast. Cynthia and Erika had covered their eyes in fright, and Misty was hanging on the railing cussing out the ref for allowing that beat down to go on as long as it did.

"That's bullshit, ref!" Misty shrieked, hanging so far over the ledge it was a wonder she didn't topple over. "That Pokemon's injuries are on YOU!" She pointed accusatorily, before sitting down with her arms crossed over her chest in a huff.

"Um, Misty, I don't think he heard you." Sabrina finally offered.

"Ah, shut up. I made me feel better." Misty retorted. Despite the situation, her friend's humor was enough to make the Psychic smirk a bit. Then she glanced back down at the pacing Orrean by the ring, and her worry returned.

_C'mon, Dust boy, make a miracle again…_

_**STEVEN**_

"Go, Armaldo!" Steven shouted, tossing out a Pokeball and releasing his first Pokemon back into the ring. Thankfully, Armaldo had not actually witnessed the brutal beat down Dragonite had administered to its friend, so the intimidation factor was not there.

Yet.

*_Armaldo returns to the field, folks! Can it withstand the ferocious onslaught of Dragonite's combination of speed and power?*_

"Armaldo, get it with a Take Down!" Steven shouted. His faithful comrade nodded, lowered its shoulders, and charged its foe. Dragonite did not fly out of the way (though it was tempted to, but thought that somewhat cowardly), and instead took a deep breath and clenched its fists, focusing. Armaldo crashed into the Dragon, but instead of driving it to the ground like it had with Haxorus, Dragonite was instead still upright, backpedaling towards the ropes. As soon as they had collided against the ropes, Armaldo grabbed the Dragon's arm and threw in the direction of the opposite ropes. While Dragonite was sent barreling in the other direction, Armaldo took a deep breath and reared back. Dragonite turned its back around, and thus used the ropes again as a springboard towards Armaldo. Though it was too late to do anything, for the Bug/Rock type had already gone past the point of no return. With a cry, Armaldo threw the punch.

THWACK

It was a hell of a punch. It sent reverberations through the stadium, and could be heard clearly through the cheers of the crowd. In fact, the aftermath caused the crowd to fall silent. But it was not because of the punch itself.

It was because Dragonite hadn't even flinched.

Armaldo had thrown a shot that would have scrambled any lesser Pokemon's stomach, and here was Dragonite standing there like nothing had happened. The crowd was still silent, and with another cry Armaldo tried again.

THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.

Every time to the solar plexus. Every time completely ineffectual.

Then Dragonite did something. It stared at Armaldo, smiled a little, and began wagging its index finger at the smaller opponent.

And the crowd went ballistic.

_*Oh my Arceus! Four punches to the gut and Dragonite didn't even feel them! And look at him taunting Armaldo! Whatcha gonna do, Armaldo? This crowd KNOWS what's coming! Here we goooooooo!*_

Immediately, Dragonite's arm lashed out and grabbed Armaldo by the throat. As the Bug/Rock Pokemon struggled to pry the Dragon's iron grip off of its neck, Dragonite lifted it off the air effortlessly. And just as effortlessly, he threw Armaldo back-first into the mat.

*_CHOKESLAM! What a slam by Dragonite! Oh, and let's add a little more!*_

Dragonite grabbed the prone Armaldo off of the ground, and with a roar tossed its foe into the air. With a whoosh, Dragonite took off after him. He tackled Armaldo in midair, flipped so that they were both upside down, and with a flap of the wings propelled them both downwards. It threw Armaldo down so that the Bug/Rock type hit the ground first, with Dragonite coming in right after with its elbow leading the way.

*_SKY DROP! SKY DROP! The most electrifying move in Pokemon fighting today! And Armaldo is staggering! It's almost over!*_

Dragonite picked the dazed Pokemon back up by the scruff of the neck, slapped it across the face (drawing a **WOOO! **from the crowd), and then tossed Armaldo towards Steven. Before the poor Pokemon could hit the ground, Dragonite had taken a deep breath and let out…well, it wasn't fire, that was for sure. But it was something. Something purple and static-like. It struck Armaldo right in the chest, and the poor Pokemon finished ragdolling to the base of Steven's podium, completely out cold.

*_Sky Drop to Dragonbreath, this match is TIED! What's next for Steven Stone? Is there anything left?*_

Steven was silent as he recalled Armaldo. He looked down at the ring to see the clearly bored Dragonite polishing its nails, and then up to its supremely confident trainer. Lance met his eyes and smiled.

"Go ahead and send him out, Steven." Lance said. "It's your best chance, really. But then again, what kind of chance is it, considering what happened last time?" He asked. There was something innocently honest about the way he was speaking, but it was still incredibly grating to listen to.

_**SABRINA**_

Especially to certain red-haired Water masters.

"_LET-ME-AT-HIM-I'LL-KILL-HIM!_" Misty snarled, as Cynthia and Erika struggled to keep their friend from vaulting over the railing and delivering a Sky Drop of her own. Sabrina didn't even bother.

_**TRODAIRE**_

"Ref, can I have time?" Trodaire asked. The referee looked at him like he had three heads.

"Uh, what?" He asked. Trodaire rolled his eyes.

"As pursuant to the rulebook, section 13 part A, 'a trainer is allowed to consult with his team's specific trainer if properly notified before the next round begins.' I'd say we're in a suitable timeout period, don't you?" He asked. The referee looked at him blankly, and then looked at Lance. Lance raised an eyebrow.

"What are you looking at me for?" He asked. "The kid's right. It's just a little-used rule because few trainers can afford a team trainer." He finished. The ref shrugged.

"Fair enough. Team Steven Stone has requested a time out!" He said. There was a groan in the audience at this pause in the action, but the fans acquiesced to this.

_**STEVEN**_

He turned around to see Trodaire scamper up the podium, but before he could say anything Trodaire was right in his face.

"You've got one chance to tell me what he's talking about or I'm going to knock you out on live television." Trodaire snarled. "What happened last time?"

"Uh…" Steven began, thinking of a way to put it lightly. Then he gave up and told the truth. "The last time we fought, Dragonite put Aggron in the hospital."

There was a pause. Trodaire looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.

"And you're telling me this _now?_" Trodaire hissed. "Don't you think that's _important _information?"

"Well I told you he was battling his demons in the gym all those weeks ago-" Steven said before being cut off.

"_This is completely different!_" Trodaire hissed, doing his best to keep people from seeing how furious (and panicked) he was. "You realize that you're not sending out a Pokemon next, but a grudge-driven beast, right?" He asked. Steven nodded slowly.

"Well, when you put it that way…" He said sheepishly.

"NO! Not _'when I put it that way_.' That's the truth! Aggron is gonna come out here swinging like a madman, Dragonite is going to let him tire himself out, and then knock him over with a finger poke! Hell, we might as well forfeit now! Unless…" He said, looking Steven directly in the eyes. "Unless…"

"Unless what?" Steven asked.

"Unless you tell Aggron to wait for Dragonite to throw the first punch…es." Trodaire said.

"Are you nuts?" Steven said. "Look what good that did Excadrill!"

"Excadrill is tiny. Aggron is big and bulky. There's a chance!" Trodaire said.

"20 seconds remaining, Team Stone!" The referee said. Trodaire took a deep breath.

"Look, it's like what I told you at the very beginning. We can't outrun Dragonite. We can't escape him. We have to let him come to us, tire himself out, and then punch him HARD."

"But Aggron will take a load of punishment." Steven protested. "He'll be battered beyond belief."

"Ten seconds, team!" Referee said.

"Then let me ask you this: how badly does Aggron want to settle the score?" Trodaire asked. Steven replied immediately.

"You can't even begin to imagine." He said. Trodaire grinned.

"Then he'll be willing to do it." He hopped down from the podium, and walked back to his position.

"Time in!" The referee said. "Steven, select your Pokemon!" He shouted. Steven nodded, unclipped his last usable Pokeball, and threw it.

"Go, Aggron!" He shouted.

There was a flash, and then there was Aggron, letting out a loud and metallic roar.

*_There he is, ladies and gentlemen! Steven's pride and joy, Aggron! The last time he fought Dragonite, it went hideously for the Steel type fighter. But I've been informed from an insider source that Aggron has been preparing for this rematch for months. We'll see how it goes!*_

Aggron saw Dragonite, snarled, and with a roar was about to charge its hated foe head-on. But then there was a command.

"Aggron, NO!" Steven said. Confused, the Steel type stopped and looked at its master. Steven shook his head, and took a deep breath.

"Let him come to you. Then strike." He said. "Iron Defense, go."

Aggron looked wounded, as if his pride was being told to go suck it, but it nodded with a sigh and got into position. It held its arms in front of its face like a wall, shielding it from headshots. Then, with the fingers of its left hand, it motioned for Dragonite to come forward. The implication was clear.

_Bring it._

The crowd let out an "**OOOOOHHHHHH**" and Lance thought it was rather humorous.

"As you wish. It's your funeral. Dragonite, oblige Aggron." Dragonite nodded, and with a whoosh took off towards its foe. Aggron let out a grunt of defiance.

Dragonite struck.

Each punch and kick had the power to fell a thick tree, and given a half hour Dragonite probably could have cleared a forest. Most of the punches were blocked or knocked aside by Aggron, but every now and then one connected. But instead of that uncomfortable sound of fist on soft tissue, it was the sound of fist striking metal.

CLANG CLANG CLANG

Finally, after a few moments, Dragonite stepped back. It was breathing a little heavily now, but that was understandable. But then it did something that sent a rush through Trodaire's stomach. It winced, and shook out its left hand, as if it was smarting.

"Keep it up, Steven!" He shouted. "Dragonite felt those just as much!"

"Alright, Aggron, go get him!" Steven said.

Aggron took a step towards Dragonite, and threw a jab that connected with Dragonite's stomach. With an 'oof', Dragonite was knocked slightly back. But then it came back with a hammer fist strike to Aggron's ear. The Steel type blocked the move with its elbow, and threw a one-two combo to the stomach and then the chest. Then, it ducked under another haymaker and connected with Dragonite's jaw.

There was a gasp as Dragonite was lifted into the air, spun once, and landed flat on its face. Lance looked aghast. Clair looked terrified. The crowd began to murmur amongst itself, and then let out a roar as the realization hit them: this was the first time that Dragonite had ever been knocked down in a fight.

Dragonite got back up, but instead of streaking towards Aggron again it instead took off into the air. It smirked, knowing that Aggron couldn't fly. But then its smirk turned to a look of shock and then pain, as Aggron had grabbed onto Dragonite's foot and was yanking the Dragon-type down.

*_My goodness, Aggron is trying to keep this fight to the ground! Dragonite is struggling to stay aloft, fighting off Aggron and –OH MY GOSH DOWN THEY GO!*_

They both landed with a crash on the mat. Dragonite was the first up, though it was wincing badly in pain. Trodaire saw why. One of its wings looked rather battered, almost sprained. One thing was clear, though. It wasn't taking off into the air for another Sky Drop.

Then Aggron was back on its feet, and once more assumed its defensive boxing stance. Dragonite snarled, and lunged again. Though one of its wings was hurting, that didn't change the fact that Dragonite was trained in numerous styles of fighting. One of these was Throh and Sawk-style wrastlin'.

It grabbed Aggron and threw the Steel type over its shoulder. As it landed on top of its foe, Dragonite was about to throw a punch when a steel-plated fist hit it in the nose. Staggering backwards, Dragonite looked up at its opponent. Battered, bruised, and bleeding a little bit…but Aggron was still standing. Still coming at him.

Then Dragonite noticed something. There was something wet on his face. It felt its nose, and was stunned to see red smears on its paw. It was bleeding from the nose.

*_He's cut! Dragonite's cut!*_

"Finish him off, Dragonite!" Lance said. There was a sense of panic in his voice. Now the crowd was beginning to go ballistic. This was unlike anything that they had ever seen. Dragonite was meeting its match? Was that even possible?

But then Dragonite began to gain the upper hand. It threw a series of punches and strikes and kicks, and though Aggron blocked a good percentage of them, it could not stop them all from hitting their mark. Dragonite finished its combo, and with a front thrust kick planted Aggron firmly onto the mat.

But the damned thing _just. Wouldn't. Give._ Aggron staggered back to its feet, and though it was bruised and battered and blood was starting to trickle down its nose, it still smiled like a crazed man. And it threw another punch. And Dragonite hit the canvas again. It clambered back up to its feet, and with another cry threw a blistering series of moves. Close Combat, Low Kicks, Comet Punches, everything. It could have put down an army of Team Rocket grunts with that series. It was so destructively beautiful that it could be framed as a masterpiece.

And Aggron got back up.

It let out a roar. Dragonite threw a punch. Aggron countered it with an elbow block, and then threw a blistering uppercut that sent Dragonite flat on its butt. The crowd was going crazy. Chip Skarmory was about to have a heart attack in the booth. Dragonite sat back upright, and looked at Aggron.

And that's when Trodaire saw it.

Dragonite no longer looked like the champion, the great grand daddy of them all. Its eyes were slightly dazed, but bright and wide. And there was no mistaking the emotion behind them. Fear. Trodaire looked in Dragonite's eyes and saw its innermost thoughts.

_Wait a minute. This one could beat me._

And it was the most beautiful thing Trodaire had ever seen.

"Enough of this!" Lance snapped, getting Dragonite's attention. "Finish him off, NOW!" He nodded, and Dragonite understood the subtle cue. It got back to its feet, and took a few steps back. Aggron was too exhausted to pursue, and was instead contemplating its opponent with confusion. Then Lance spoke three words that chilled Trodaire and Steven to their core.

"Dragonite, HYPER BEAM!"

Dragonite took a deep breath, and suddenly its chest began to expand more than physically possible. And the lights began to darken. Somehow, this move was messing with the energy in the air. Trodaire didn't know how this was possible, but quite frankly was too scared to ask. Then Dragonite's face began to glow, and whatever was in its mouth was glowing the brightest, as if it had swallowed the sun. And that was the only light in the arena.

Then Dragonite exhaled.

Trodaire had heard some terrifying sounds in his life. He'd heard gunshots at night. Women screaming, children crying, even Pokemon whimpering. But the sound that Hyper Beam made was unlike anything he had ever imagined before. It was beyond explanation. A shrieking, screeching noise that seemed to dig itself through his eardrums and into his brain. The audience was feeling it. Sabrina and the girls were feeling it. He was feeling it. Trodaire was feeling it. Lance felt nothing.

And Aggron was going to take it.

A pure white beam of light, enough to completely engulf a Pokemon whole. Which is precisely what it did to Aggron, who barely had enough time to throw up its arms in feeble defense before being enveloped. Steven screamed his Pokemon's name in horror, but he was drowned out in the sound of the attack.

There was an explosion, and a cloud of dust hovered over the arena.

And all was quiet.

For a few moments, no one said anything. Only terrified murmurs from the crowd. Dragonite let out a mighty whine of pain, and hunched over and put its hands on its knees. It was done. Completely spent.

The dust cleared. Lying on the mat, in a crater from the blast, was Aggron. He was…he was moving? He was moving. Barely, but he was moving. The crowd began to roar like banshees.

*_HE DIDN'T DROP! HE DIDN'T DROP! AGGRON IS STILL CONSCIOUS! IF HE CAN GET UP, IF HE CAN GET UP-* _Chip Skarmory's ecstatic screams were drowned out by the frenzied roars of the crowd.

"C'mon, buddy!" Steven shouted. "You can do this! Get up! Get up!"

_**AGGRON**_

Ears were ringing.

Heart was beating. The only sound it could hear at first. Muffled, like someone had stuffed cotton in its ears. _Bu-dum. Bu-dum._

It was conscious. It was alive.

Pain. Pain was what it felt.

But it was alive. It was awake.

It opened an eye. It was on the mat. Why was it on a mat? Oh, the championship.

The championship!

Where was its opponent?

It didn't know.

It just knew pain.

Something was telling it something. What was it?

…It could win?

…

_It could win._

But how?

How could it win, lying on the ground?

It had to win. It must win. It knew it could win.

And then, there was something. A little tickling in its ear.

A whisper. A little angel.

What was it that the trainer had said?

It's not about how hard you hit, but how hard you could get hit, and keep moving, and keep moving…_forward._

"_Get up you son of a bitch! I didn't hear no bell! Get up and fight!...cuz Trodaire loves ya."_

_Get up._

_**STEVEN**_

Steven watched in awe as his friend's eyes snapped open. It looked around, as if assessing its situation. Then, it shuffled. First it tested one leg. Then the other. One arm, two. It rotated its head.

_Come on, you son of a gun. You got this, buddy._

Then Aggron pressed its arms against the mat, earning screams from the crowd.

And then it sat up.

They say the scream from the crowd at that moment could be heard high at the summit of Mount Silver, to the slopes of Spear Pillar, and perhaps even beyond.

Aggron got up to its feet. It looked in front of it. There it was. The opponent. Resting its arms on its knees, completely spent.

The end was near. It just had to get there.

Step one. Step two.

Closer…closer…

Almost…there…

Arm's length away.

It towered over Dragonite, and for once the mighty champion seemed small.

And through the white noise of the crowd, of the screams of anguish from Clair, the stunned squealing of Cynthia and the girls, of the ecstatic howling of Trodaire…one voice rang clear.

Master.

"**AGGRON, MEGA PUNCH!" **Steven shouted.

Aggron reared back. And it let loose the greatest punch of its entire life.

There was a crack as it connected with Dragonite's chest. The Dragon was sent skittering across the mat. It lay on its back, eyes open, breathing heavily. It was completely stunned. The referee went over to it. Could it still fight?

It groggily sat up. It glanced at the referee trying to get its attention. But this little man didn't matter. Where was its master? Where was its leader?

Where was its friend?

There.

It looked up at Lance behind it, and for a moment neither of them made a sound. Lance's face was stunned, Dragonite's was battered and melancholy. It gave a sad expression, as if to say something.

_I'm sorry._

And then it turned to the referee and shook its head.

"Dragonite is unable to battle! The winner of this battle is Stev-"

_**HRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!**_

The crowd exploded. Chip Skarmory broke his equipment screaming, and began banging against the glass of his desk.

Steven sank to his knees in shock, his hands on his head. And then there was a flash. His team of Pokemon, even the ones that had been defeated, had willed themselves out of their now-useless Pokeballs. He'd have to buy new ones later.

He didn't care.

They hoisted him, Cradily and Armaldo did, atop their shoulders. Metagross floated down towards Aggron, psychically lifted the battered warrior in the air, and gently set it down on top of its head. Aggron looked down in confusion at Metagross' willingness to support such weight, but was quietly grateful. And in the middle of the team, Steven and Aggron embraced.

Then, like extras on a pirate movie, the crowd descended on the ring. They vaulted the rails and surrounded Steven, screaming and cheering and clapping. Chants and songs and cheers and noise and every sound in existence all directed towards him.

He got down from his Pokemon's shoulders, and began pushing through the crowd, screaming a name. He found her. First they embraced, her makeup running from the soft tears on her face.

But then he got down on one knee.

And her tears turned to sobs of joy. She didn't even wait for him to say anything.

Trodaire saw it all, and smiled. _Attaboy, Stevie._ He looked into the crowd, and saw that the Dragon clan had not moved from their seats. Clair looked disconsolate. She was weeping and crying and making an utter fool of herself. At that moment, Trodaire made eye contact with the Grandmaster of the Order. Arach and Trodaire stared at each other for a long while completely expressionless. But then Arach broke the stare down.

He looked at Trodaire thoughtfully, and then gave him a wink. He smiled slightly, and gave a thumbs up. Trodaire nodded, and made a motion like doffing a cap.

But then he realized something. He needed to find someone too. So he began to shout.

"Sabrina!" He shouted. "SABRINA!"

In the middle of all of this, one figure was left alone. It was sitting upright now, its head still ringing and nose still bleeding, but it was there. It looked around and saw the sea of people running through the ring.

Ignoring him.

It looked down in sorrow, until it realized that a pair of feet were in front of it.

A pair of feet in ornate boots.

It looked up slowly, ashamed to make eye contact with its master. But it did. And Lance looked upon his greatest fighter, his oldest Pokemon, his greatest friend. Dragonite opened its mouth, as if to say something.

But Lance knelt down in front of him, and put a finger to his lips.

"Shhh." He said. "Don't apologize."

Dragonite looked confused. Lance had a blank expression on his face. And then it became a small smile.

"Don't you dare apologize to me after a fight like that..." He said. "…And don't you dare think that I don't still love you as my greatest and closest friend."

And he pulled his beaten friend into a hug, completely oblivious to the world around them.

_**TRODAIRE**_

He kept pushing through the crowd.

"Sabrina!" He shouted, his voice becoming hoarse. "SABRINA!"

He couldn't see anyone. Not Cynthia, not Steven, not Misty or Erika. And especially not her. He started to panic at the sight of this crowd. They were all moving so fast that they might as well have been a sea. And he would lose her. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not like this.

There.

She was standing next to Misty and Erika, who were both squealing like schoolgirls at the sight of Steven and Cynthia embracing. She was just smiling a little bit, no doubt completely blown away with what she was a part of. He knew how she felt about crowds. This must be absolutely terrifying for her. He couldn't blame her. It was absolutely terrifying for him, too. But when Sabrina looked towards Trodaire she smiled. She'd never smiled like that before. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Slowly, he made his way over to her, and she followed suit. They got closer and closer, until they were standing about a foot away from each other. And then, he took her hands in his and looked her in the eyes. He saw that she was crying. He felt moisture on his cheek and realized that he had been crying too.

They stood there for a long time, holding hands and with their foreheads nuzzled against one another. There was so much to say. There was so much to tell. There was so much to confess. But neither of them said a word.

And they didn't have to.

For the look they shared in that moment, dear readers, said everything in the world.

A/N: And I'm back. Why did this take so damned long? Because I wanted it perfect. I hope it was good enough. And there is one final epilogue coming, dear readers, that will officially put an end to this story. I hope you've enjoyed it.


	22. Epilogue

A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

Perhaps that's what made the following match's loss hurt so much.

He was still sitting in the locker room, thinking. He always thought about things that could go wrong. And, well, things went wrong. He'd spent hours with Steven coming up with a plan of attack to counter Alder's team. And even though they had two whole days to prepare…it wasn't enough. The fact of the matter was that Alder had type advantages through the roof, and had watched the entirety of Lance and Steven's match. He knew everything that Steven and Trodaire could try, and had somehow come up with a way to negate the advantage. Also, no amount of training could hide the fact that Steven's team had taken a _hell _of a beating from Lance's group. On the other hand, Alder had coasted to a victory rather easily against Wallace. (How he'd done that was beyond Trodaire) So now it was Alder in the finals against the Boy from the Mountain. Ugh.

He was so busy stewing that at first he didn't hear the door open. Then Steven spoke up.

"Still frustrated?" He asked.

"What do you think?" Trodaire grunted. Sighing, Steven took a seat next to him.

"I know. It sucks." Steven said. "But I guess it isn't terribly surprising. Even a genius doctor couldn't have gotten my team back up to full stamina."

"You're taking this remarkably well." Trodaire said.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Steven asked suddenly. "Think about it. I beat Lance, and then put up a hell of a match against Alder. I've got the fire back in me, Trodaire. And _you _are the reason that it's there. If anything, this couldn't have been more successful."

"What makes you say that?" Trodaire said. Steven smiled, and took a seat on the bench next to his friend.

"You know how questions I took after the battle dealing with my loss to Alder? One. A standard-fare 'how did it feel?' sort of thing. For the past fifteen minutes, I've been asked how it feels to have toppled Lance, what this means for me in the future…and one asinine reporter asked me when the wedding is." He said.

They both laughed.

"What I'm trying to say is, Trodaire, is that you are right when you say that this is frustrating." Steven said. "But I've learned long ago that there are far, _far _worse things in life than losing a Pokemon battle. And quite frankly, I don't want to spend my life focusing solely on Pokemon battles. It's important to me, but it isn't my life. Not like Lance's. All that really matters is: is it fun again? Well, I think you and I both know the answer to that one. Yes. It's fun again. And I have you to thank for it." He said. He clapped Trodaire on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's get out of here. They're finishing healing up my team and I was thinking about getting dinner with our dates."

Trodaire gulped.

"Uh, dates? Um, Steven you have a fiancé but I don't know who I-"

He cut himself off. Steven laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Man, for someone who can figure out a way to defeat one of the greatest trainers in the history of the world, you can be really dumb." Steven said.

**THREE WEEKS LATER**

The tournament came and passed. To the surprise of absolutely no one, especially given the incredible battles leading up to it that had taken out the supposedly best challengers, the Boy from the Mountain made his triumphant return to competitive battling with a victory over Alder. As soon as the battle was over, and both trainers had returned their teams, they shook hands at center ring for what had to be the photo op of the century for photographers. Alder gave a short retirement speech thanking all of his fans for getting behind him for one last miracle run, and then thanked the Boy for his incredible abilities. This was enough to draw a small smile from the younger trainer, and the crowd roared its approval.

Surprisingly, the people currently inside the Fight Club had not watched the battle. They weren't terribly invested in it. There was a wedding to be planned.

But first, a birthday party.

Trodaire's to be precise. He'd been adamant that his friends keep it low key, to which Steven and the others promptly told him to stop being so reserved and accept this fiesta as their thanks for what he did for Steven. So it was a grill-out both in the lawn between the Fight Club and the Saffron gym, as well as festivities inside the Fight Club itself. Misty had promised to exercise caution with whom she invited, and by that we mean that she invited every gym leader she could think of to come. All of them showed. Bettie and Paulie insisted that they take care of cooking all of the food, but when Steven stepped in and showed them he possessed some mean grilling skills, they were all too happy to accept the assistance. The psychics from Sabrina's gym had volunteered to help set up some fancy lighting, using their abilities to have candles and torches hover in the air instead of simply stringing them to ropes.

The man of the hour had been greeted by Sabrina and her trusted confidant, who had actually ventured out of the Saffron gym in what seemed to be ages.

"_I am delighted to finally meet you face to face, Mr. Phoenix." _Alakazam said pleasantly. Trodaire smiled and offered his hand. Alakazam took it, and with the same cheerful expression "spoke" once more.

"_I would also like to congratulate you on your successful courtship of Madam Sabrina. I will have you know that she thinks very, very highly of you. It reminds of watching a young Abra first discovering that it can teleport. Heart-warming, really. So I conclude by saying this: if you make her cry, I will make __**you **__cry."_ It pleasantly wished the stunned (and slightly terrified) Orrean a happy birthday, and then teleported back inside the gym.

Trodaire leaned against a table in the middle of the gym, sipping a drink and watching the party. There was Misty, Erika and Cynthia all discussing the wedding plans (to be held in two weeks) with varying degrees of excitement on their faces. Paulie was hitting it off with Cianwood's gym leader Chuck, whose boisterous nature and hearty appetite won over the old Saffron native quickly. And periodically, a gym leader or two would come up and congratulate Trodaire on a job well done. He had to keep pinching himself to remind himself that this was all real, and that he wasn't dreaming. That was the greatest fear he'd had in the days since the tournament: that he might wake up in a musty abandoned house in Orre and realize that this was all nothing more than the lucid dreams of a desperate man.

Well, when Sabrina came in through the front doors and planted a kiss on his lips, that put those silly fears to rest in a hurry.

"Sorry I'm late," Sabrina said. "But I brought something." She was carrying a cardboard box. "It's not the best gift, but I figured that you would like it." She opened it with a boxcutter knife, and revealed stacks of black t-shirts. On the front, emblazoned with white letters in a red trim, read THE FIGHT CLUB. On the back, in the same lettering read WHERE CHAMPIONS ARE BUILT.

Trodaire told her it was the greatest gift he'd ever been given. And he meant every word.

After a while of pleasant mingling, Paulie got everyone's attention by clinking a glass. He then cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Now, I figure yeh might find dis a little funny, considerin' I's shorter than the lot of ya, but I gots something tah say." He said. "And dat is dat Trodaire here is the best friend an ol' lump like me could evah ask for. He comes inta dis town wit' nothing, and now look at 'im. King of the Fight Club!" He raised his glass. "But he's also found it in 'is heart to take in an ol' useless fogie like me. And dat's what I propose a toast to: to Trodaire Phoenix, the man wit' the biggest heart in all of Kanto!"

"To Trodaire!" Everyone said, clapping and cheering. What followed next was a wonderfully off-key singing of "Happy Birthday to You," and then back to business as usual. Bettie was about to bring out the (massive) cake, when the door opened. The bell above the door rang, and everyone turned around to see who had come in.

They filed in slowly and respectfully, each of them wearing modest robes not unlike a monk in deep prayer. There were seven of them, each at an impressive age. They bowed respectfully, parting until two other figures were revealed: Clair, and Grandmaster Arach.

Off to the corner, Erika stealthily whispered in Misty's ear.

"Did you invite them?" She asked.

"Yes, but I didn't actually expect them to show up!" Misty whispered back.

Arach was not wearing the robes that the Dragon Council (and even Clair, which made Misty and Erika giggle despite themselves), and had instead opted for a depressingly normal pair of jeans and a red flannel shirt. He looked like an accountant coming in on Casual Friday, not one of the greatest Pokemon minds of all time. He adjusted his glasses slightly and spoke.

"I didn't think we were this good at making an entrance." He admitted.

This broke the ice, and everyone chuckled. Arach spoke again.

"I apologize for our late arrival," Arach said. "We had to be certain that we were dressed appropriately for this event." Though he did not change expression or glance anywhere in particular, Misty and Erika _knew_ that he was talking about Clair. And that was just perfect. "My protégée Lance will be here in a little bit. He said he had to run a short errand."

This struck the crowd as odd, but they went with it. Few people got the chance to hear Grandmaster Arach speak (or interact) in a non-formal setting, and now everyone was on pins and needles as to what he'd say or do next.

"I would like to, on behalf of the Dragon Clan, express great congratulations to Mr. Steven Stone for his victory in the tournament, and that personally I haven't been entertained by such a showing in a very long time. Perhaps not even since I was actively battling. Also, congratulations on your upcoming wedding vows." He smiled. Then he turned to look at Trodaire. "And there's the man I believe we are all here to celebrate today. Happy birthday Trodaire. I apologize that I couldn't bring you a present, but I think that this might be a suitable replacement." One of the Dragon Councilmen stepped forward, holding a small chest. "Because I am an incurable snoop, I happened to hear that the Fight Club is, while in no danger of closing, certainly in need of some spare funds for improvements to the facility." Arach said. The councilman opened the chest, and Trodaire felt his stomach do a backflip at the sight inside: a blank check.

"It may not seem like much, but this check represents my Clan's investment in you, Trodaire. Whatever you need, ask. Be it equipment, guest trainers, advice, money…it's yours. From now until beyond the foreseeable future, I'd like to offer you my personal and full support." He extended his hand. A dazed Trodaire reached out to take it, but Arach drew it back. "But on two conditions." He said.

"Whuh-what are they?" Trodaire asked. Arach smiled.

"First: I am no longer an active battler, but I would be lying if I said I don't miss it. So if it isn't too much to ask, every now and then I'd like to come here to offer my services as an instructor for anyone who would wish to seek my advice." He said. There was a pause. "And second…" He drew out a Pokeball on his hip, and released the being inside. A hearty-looking Garchomp came out. He smirked. "I wouldn't mind you teaching my Garchomp how to throw that megaton punch Aggron used on Lance's Dragonite." He finished, to the laughter of just about everyone in the room.

Trodaire couldn't shake Arach's hand fast enough.

"That's enough business." Arach said. "Aren't we supposed to be partying?"

There was general laughter, and before long the Dragon Clan was absorbed into the overall party.

It went for a while, and the sun was beginning to set. The cake had been eaten, everyone wanted a t-shirt, and everyone who was able to wanted to try out Trodaire's wooden dummy in the corner. (Only he and Sabrina looked like they even remotely knew what they were doing) Finally, Trodaire got in the middle of the ring so that he was above everyone, and started to speak.

"Can I have your attention for just a moment?" He asked. When everyone quieted down, he began. "I'll keep it brief. I had no idea where this was going to go when I breezed into Saffron a few months ago to buy out this foreclosed piece of land and turn it into a legitimate training gym. I didn't think that I'd make friends with gym leaders, train with champions, and I certainly didn't think that I would be a part of the best World Tournament ever." He said. "That might all be done now, but I just want to say that I loved it all, you guys are all the best, and I know that this is just the beginning. I mean, there's always next year right?" He asked. Everyone clapped and laughed, but then a voice cut through it all.

"Yes, there _is _always next year."

Everyone turned to the door. There was Lance, leaning in the doorway. He smiled a little bit.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," he said. "I had to go take care of something." He looked up at Trodaire. "I have something to say to you. The amount of training I put into my team to prepare for that fight was…well, to say that it was legendary probably doesn't even begin to cover it. I practiced and game-planned and thought up the most creatively brilliant ways to defeat Steven. And you, a kid I'd never heard of before, helped him beat me." Trodaire wasn't sure if he was angry or not, but then Lance smiled. "I might be one of the greatest _battlers_ in the world, but I'd venture a guess you're one of the best _trainers _in the world." He made a motion like tipping a cap. Then he smiled some more. "Or so I was telling my friend. Y'see, he and I talk a lot. We don't go around trumpeting it, but we discuss all sorts of strategies and thoughts and life lessons and the like. He's the best friend I got. So when he heard that I lost to Steven, he couldn't believe it. But then I told him that you were involved, and he got interested. See, he might not be that old, but he's been battling a long time. And he likes to find out new wrinkles to battling whenever he gets bored. Well, Trodaire, you certainly piqued his curiosity. So I told him that he should come here tonight, being it is your birthday and all, and…well he agreed." He stepped off to the side of the door, allowing his friend to walk in.

He was young. Probably about 20, certainly not older than Trodaire. He was wearing blue jeans, with a black t-shirt. Over that t-shirt was a red vest, with a white collar. He was wearing a hat, a simple thing that had a design not unlike the top half of a Pokeball jutting out from the brim. He was pretty tall too, probably the height of Trodaire. He had an innocent expression on his face, but there was no denying the power in his eyes. They seemed to cut right through you.

There was a sound of shattering glass. Clair had dropped a glass of punch to the ground. No one noticed or cared.

He walked through the gym, past the gaping mouths of the many trainers there before him. All trainers and gym leaders that he had faced…and beaten. There wasn't a single soul in the room that he hadn't. Finally, he got about six feet away from the boxing ring where a thunderstruck Trodaire was hanging off of the ropes, and looked up at the Orrean. He pushed his cap up a bit so that he could see Trodaire better. It seemed like he was waiting for Trodaire to speak first.

Trodaire glanced at Sabrina, and then found his voice.

"A-are you here to train?" He asked.

A nod.

"A-are you here to train…with _me?_" Trodaire asked.

Another nod.

"Y-you want to t-train with me…to get better. Y-you think you'll get better training with me?" Trodaire asked.

Another nod.

"Well, uh…" Trodaire cleared his throat. "We can…we can start tomorrow. Does tomorrow work for you?"

Another nod.

And the Boy from the Mountain smiled.

"Let's build some hurtin' bombs," Red said.

**THE END**

**A/N: **And on that jaw-dropping break of canon, we have come to the end of the road for _The Fight Club. _I want to thank everyone who enjoyed this story while I was writing it, and for those of you who have found it. It was a labor of love and I truly had a blast writing it. Fear not, my dear readers, I do not think that this is the end of the road for Trodaire and friends. Who knows? It could all be just beginning…

Thanks again!


End file.
